


Child of War

by wbss21



Category: The Avengers, Thor - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Loki, Loki Needs a Hug, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Thor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 60,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbss21/pseuds/wbss21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor/Avengers AU: While out for his daily run, Steve Rogers stumbles across Loki. There's only one glaring difference to how the Captain remembers the god of Mischief and how he appears now. Loki doesn't look like he can be older than six or seven years of age, nor can Steve ignore the utter terror he sees in the boys eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve stands from the fountain, swiping the back of his hand against his chin to wipe the excess water away.

It’s hot today, and as he tilts his face towards the sky, his eyes squint against the harsh glare of the mid-noon sun.

Normally, he would have already gotten his morning run out of the way, but Fury had called an emergency meeting with him and the rest of the team earlier, another HYDRA cell located underground the bureau of Queens this time. A little too close for comfort, for Steve’s tastes.

It had been a relatively simple mission. In the end, all it had taken was him and Nat going in and wiping the pocket clean. There’d been only ten HYDRA agents involved, and they’d all been taken into custody, no real fuss.

All pretty standard and boring.

Steve sighs, bringing his gaze back down from the sky and glancing around.

Human traffic is pretty thick now, and he’s glad he got his run over with. It’s always a hassle having to navigate through the crowds on the streets.

He almost wishes something would happen, though he scolds himself a moment later, knowing the foolery behind such a sentiment.

It’s better when it’s quiet.

He should be thankful things have been going so smoothly, and the Avengers haven’t been all that needed lately.  
The kid doesn’t say anything, just staring up at him with the same, terrified expression. And a second later, the boy is back up on his feet, and hurtling past him so fast, Steve can barely follow the movement.

He turns, calling after him.

He’s just about to take off in a run to follow. The boy is fast, but Steve knows he’s faster, and if he’s right, if that really isLoki, however impossible or improbable as that may be, he can’t just…

He’s stopped when he hears a loud ruckus behind him, the whoops and hollers of a group of what sounds like teenagers, and turning back around, he sees five of them, probably between fifteen and seventeen, running from the same direction the little boy had come from. He picks up on their words an instant later. They’re taunting, screaming threats and laughing wildly, and it dawns quick and hard on Steve that it’s the boy, that it’s Loki they’re after.  
He remembers the terrified expression across the kid’s face.

And Steve doesn’t even think, turning back around, eyes searching frantically for him. He feels his heart stutter to a lurching halt in his chest when he spots him, and sees him running straight for the heavily trafficked street.

“NO!” He cries, lungs seeming to burst with the effort.

And then he’s off, sprinting after the boy like it’s his own life that depends upon it.

But it’s too late. He can already see that before he’s covered even half the distance between them. The child rushes into the street without even looking, and it’s like watching a nightmare unfold before his very eyes, Steve freezing, his hands coming to his head, fingers twisting into his short hair.

He can feel his face contort in horror and dismay as, moments later, the inevitable happens, and the boy is struck head on by a rushing vehicle going what must have been at least 40 mph.

There is the deafening sound of screeching tires on pavement, and terrified screams, but all Steve can see, all he is aware of in those eternal seconds is the fragile, tiny body which goes sailing through the air. Watching as it descends slowly with gravity, and comes crashing against the blacktop of the road, skidding and rolling seeming unendingly before, at last, coming to a stop what must be fifteen or twenty feet away.

The kid doesn’t move, and Steve thinks he’s never felt this kind of fear in his life.

Not through the war. Not through infiltrating HYDRA’s base of operations. Not through facing off against the Red Skull, or crashing that plane into the frozen waters.

Not through an alien invasion, or waking up in a world completely changed.

Time seems not to move for a moment, suspended there and horrible.

And then Steve’s brain catches up with him, and he’s running.

No, he’s flying, shoving past people and screaming at them to move. People are just standing there, staring, he knows, in shock. But something about it makes rage boil up in him in a way he can’t even begin to find the words to express, and he has no time or care at this point for niceties or playing the good, all American boy.

He moves as fast as he can, and still it isn’t nearly fast enough.

“Out of the way!” He shouts at the circle of people which has begun to form around the prone body of the child, and the command in his voice brooks no argument, the onlookers parting to let him through without question.

He doesn’t know if they recognize who he is or not.

Right now, he doesn’t care.

He comes skidding to a halt at the boy’s side, and without thought, he drops to his knees, his hands reaching out, trembling, he notices, as they hover uncertainly above the motionless frame.

Loki… he, he thinks it’s Loki, he’s almost sure, is scrapped and bruised, though nothing near as bad as what Steve had imagined would be the case after taking such a severe blow. The worst of it, it seems, is a long gash running along the edge of his hairline, bleeding sluggishly, and some nasty looking abrasions along his face and, of course, the palms of his hands, as well as his elbows and knees.

But Steve can see his chest rising and falling with breath, and he hears himself exhale loudly in almost painful relief. Slowly, he reaches down, pressing his fingers to the boy’s pulse point just to be sure, and is rewarded with a steady, if faint, beat.

And so he slips his hand carefully and as gently as he can managed beneath the child’s head, feeling for fractures along the way before slipping his palm to cradle the boy’s neck. Nothing feels broken. Steve can hardly believe it.

From the hit the kid took, he should be dead.

And then he remembers how basically indestructible Thor is. And if Loki’s his brother…

Glancing down the road where the accident happened, Steve sees the car that hit the boy, sitting there, its front fender completely smashed in, steam rising from under the hood.

“Oh God, is he dead?” He hears someone stammer.

“I called an ambulance.” Another person announces.

“Where’d he come from? Where are his parents?”

Steve barely hears them.

He looks back down at the boy, naked and dirty and skin torn up.

If Fury hears about this… If the rest of his team does…

What are they going to do?

He’s just a kid, no matter who he is, or what he’s done, he… he’s just a kid.

Steve remembers the terrified look on his face when he’d crashed into him, staring up with wide, lost eyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen such raw, consuming panic. Such awful confusion.

None of that’s going to matter to Fury. All he’s going to know is this is Loki, an alien war criminal who’s supposed to be locked away on another planet.

He’ll want to shove him into a cell, Steve knows. Want to know how he escaped. What he’s doing here, back on Earth. What he’s planning. He knows Fury is far from being incapable of grim tactics in acquiring desired information.

That’s a fancy way of knowing if he has to, child or not, Fury will torture Loki to get what he wants.

Steve can’t let that happen.

Without further thought, checking him over quickly but thoroughly, making sure nothing on the boy is broken, he gets an arm underneath the kid’s knobby knees, his other arm slipping across the backs of his shoulders, and in one smooth motion, he stands up with him.

He’s heavier than he looks. Steve has to guess he must be 80 or 90 pounds, but he looks like he can’t weight more than 30 or 40. But then he remembers Thor mentioning something about the Aesir having higher density tissue than a normal human, and he guesses that must play a part in why they’re so tough.

He thanks whatever powers may be out there now for that fact.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” Someone cries indignantly. “You shouldn’t be moving him like that!”

Steve turns, holding Loki to his chest, letting the back of his small head rest on his bicep.

The teenager’s who’d been chasing him are gone. Obviously scared off when they saw what had resulted from their cruelty.

“Official Avengers business ma’am.” He states, applying his best, authoritative voice. “I’m Captain America. I’ll get this boy the help he needs.”

And that’s all it takes.

Everyone backs off, not even questioning as he carries the unconscious form from the scene.

He has no idea what he’s going to do. Fears he may even regret it.

Right now, all he knows is he’s got to get Loki off of the streets, and his apartment is the nearest and fastest option he has available to him to do that.

All the rest of it, he’ll work out when the times comes.


	2. Chapter 2

Already, Steve’s beginning to question the validity of his decision to bring the child back to his apartment, as it grows more readily apparent that he isn’t at all prepared to deal with this kind of… situation.

The first issue he’d encountered had been arriving at his complex and realizing he was going to have to sneak the boy in without anyone noticing. 

That nixed going through the front entrance and up the stairwell, as he normally would.

He’d opted instead to use the fire escape, out back. A simple enough task.

Despite being heavier than he’d appeared, Loki wasn’t any kind of real burden upon Steve’s enhanced frame, and he’d easily been able to cradle the kid against his chest and haul himself up the metal grating of the escape, up to his floor.

Luckily, he hadn’t left his window locked, and he’d been able to side it open and step through, making sure not to knock Loki’s head or feet against the frame as he’d done so.

From there, he’d been set on getting the child cleaned up, whatever wounds he’d suffered washed out and properly bandaged and wrapped, and hopefully then some place comfortable and safe to rest.

He’d wondered if he shouldn’t have brought Loki straight to a hospital, worry still weighing heavy on him about the boy’s physical state. That hit he’d taken…

But he knew to do so would only draw SHIELD’s attention. That they’d be all over the situation in a matter of hours, if not minutes. That was assuming they weren’t already aware. Steve realizes in retrospect that he hadn’t exactly been subtle in the way he’d swept in and whisked Loki away.

Even if SHIELD weren’t yet aware of who the child was that Steve had rescued, they very likely knew such a rescue had occurred, and, if indeed they did, they’d come calling eventually, asking questions.

He’d brought Loki’s still unconscious form to his own room, laying him out on the bed, making sure his head was well supported upon a firm pillow, before rushing off to gather supplies.

A large bowl of warm water, clean washcloths, antiseptic wipes and gauze bandaging and surgical tape.

It was as he’d been cleaning Loki up, and in all the fear and panic of before, getting for the first time a really good look at him, that Steve began to notice just how poor the boy’s condition was, beyond the fact that he’d been hit by a car going 40.

He was awfully small. Something Steve had noticed before. But up close and paying attention, Loki looked… well, almost stunted. He stood just barely taller than Steve’s knees, and he was painfully, even frighteningly thin, ribs prominent and arms and legs like strings. Like he’d been starved.

Though there was also to the boy a definition of muscle unnatural to one so young, and it made Steve wonder if he wasn’t in fact older than what he’d initially thought.

It was hard for Steve to say, given Loki wasn’t at all human. He had to keep reminding himself of that. The kid may look it, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t even the same species as Thor, now that he was remembering the Asgardian Prince telling them all that Loki had been adopted, from a race called the Jotnar. A race of giants, Thor had said, though there hadn’t been anything particularly “giant” about Loki. 

And now, well, Loki was so small, Steve might even call him sickly.

And that thought had conjured up unwanted memories of his own youth. Of always being so fragile and sick, most days he couldn’t even make it outside to play.

Further unsettling had been the obvious signs of struggle.

Loki’s small knuckles had been split open and bleeding sluggishly, and his nails torn and caked under with blood.

Steve had thought at first the damage had been wrought by his being dragged across the pavement. But further inspection more bore the look of someone who had lashed out in defense of himself. Damaged suffered from thrown punches and scratching.

Steve had recalled the boys chasing Loki. Recalled the terror in Loki’s eyes when he’d run into him, and the threatening taunts of the group of teenagers.

It all worked to paint a grim, upsetting picture in the captain’s mind.

That, along with the boy’s apparently starved condition, led Steve to wondering just how long Loki had been like this, and how long he’d been out there, on the street, alone and without shelter or clothes.

Clothes, in fact, were currently Steve’s main dilemma, and what was causing him his second thoughts.

He’d realized, when he’d finally gotten Loki cleaned and bandaged up, that he didn’t in fact have any clothes that would fit the child

But he couldn’t leave him here naked either, and he was currently worried about leaving the kid alone. It wasn’t at all an ideal time to go out shopping.

And so he’d settled on grabbing up one of his old, ratty t-shirts and carefully maneuvering Loki into it.

The thing looks absurd on the boy, Steve knows. Hanging completely off one side of his shoulders, exposing his collarbone, the hem reaching down past the kid’s ankles, the short sleeves covering half his entire arms. It’s too big by what must be fifteen plus sizes, but it’s the best Steve can do for now.

And now, Steve thinks, all he can really do is settle in and wait.

He has no idea what’s going to happen when Loki wakes up.

If he’s half as scared and confused as he’d been back out there, then the captain knows he’s going to have a problem.

And then there’s Thor.

Damn.

Steve hasn’t seen him in a few weeks, and he doesn’t know when his teammate is going to be coming back.

No one has any real control over Thor’s movements. Nobody is foolish enough to try and exert such control. Not even Nick.

Steve can only pray the Asgardian Prince gets back soon. 

If there’s anyone he needs to tell about all of this, it’s him.

//

Steve snaps awake with a start, sitting up fast, eyes wide and chest heaving.

He’d been dreaming again, of the war. Of being on that plane, knowing he had no choice but to put it down, put it in the water.

Heard that conversation again. What he’d been sure then would be the last time he ever spoke to Peggy…

He shakes his head, rubbing a hand roughly over his face, trying to shove the images from his mind. To shove the feelings away.

It takes him a few, long seconds to realize that the light around him has grown dimmer, the room nearly dark with the rapidly setting sun.

He must have fallen asleep, he thinks. Must have been asleep for the past several hours.

And then suddenly he remembers, going for a run, turning to head back to his apartment, the little boy… Loki…

Steve rockets to his feet, suddenly, painfully aware that the boy isn’t asleep on the bed anymore, as he’d last left him.

The captain turns in a circle, eyes searching frantically about the room, looking for any sign of the kid.

A slow, stifling panic starts to rise from the pit of his stomach, an endless stream of worst case scenarios running through his head.

What if SHIELD had come and taken him away somehow? What if someone else did? What if Loki had run away? What if Loki had set the whole thing up?! Didn’t Thor say something about him being a shape-shifter? Christ! Why hadn’t he thought of that before? 

But no, no… Loki had been so terrified, and he’d been out cold when Steve brought him here, bruised and battered and clearly suffering…

His panic is just starting to reach a crescendo when he suddenly hears it.

A loud clattering from beyond the room, something crashing against the floor.

Steve is out the door in an instant, ears sharp and eyes peeled as noise continues to sound loudly from what seems like the kitchen, jangling and ringing obnoxiously. 

He’s careful as he makes his way down the short hallway, unsure of what’s going on and having enough experience to know the foolery of bursting onto a scene ignorant and unprepared.

As he nears the kitchen, the clatter continues, focusing into what sounds like silverware skittering around the tiled floor. Closer still, and Steve can make out what sounds almost like quiet whimpers.

Whatever worry he’d previously felt melts quickly away, though still he’s careful as he rounds the corner, pressing himself against the wall and turning his head slowly past the kitchen’s threshold.

And there he finds Loki, still very much a child, stood in the center of the space.

Surrounding him is what looks like, as Steve had suspected, every single piece of silverware he owns. Forks, spoons, knives…

Scattered farther from him are the overturned drawers which had previously held the utensils, and about those, spilt boxes of various different foods. Crackers, cookies, chips, rice, dried beans and pasta.

The place looks like a bomb had gone off in it.

Steve drags his eyes back to Loki then, and he notices, recovering from his initial shock, the near frantic, confused and very obviously frightened state of the boy.

He’s crying, tears tracking down his ruddy cheeks, as he looks intently down at the scattered utensils, brow furrowed in seeming dismay, as though the very sight of the things leaves him perplexed and anguished.

It takes Steve’s brain a moment to catch up to the danger of the situation, but finally it kicks into gear when he sees Loki bending down, small hands reaching for a very sharp pairing knife.

“No!” He shouts, leaping forward unthinkingly, hand outreached to stop the boy.

He realizes his mistake an instant later, when Loki’s head snaps up, eyes wide and jaw slack with unmitigated terror.

He hadn’t realized he was there, Steve thinks belatedly. He didn’t know.

The child stumbles backwards, hands flying up in front of his face in a vain attempt to defend himself, a sharp, high pitched gasp slipping past his lips.

In a moment, he’s lost his footing, crashing to the floor gracelessly, onto his bottom, a strangled grunt following the impact.

Steve skids to a halt, realizing how scary he must seem to the poor kid, but the damage is already done.

Loki scrambles backwards, eyes the size of saucers and still fixed unblinkingly on the captain.

“Hey, hey, no, no, it… it’s alright. It’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Steve tries fervently to explain, holding his own hands up in what he hopes is an understandable sign of peace. 

Loki only continues to stare up at him, small chest heaving shallow and rapid in panic. He’s on the verge of hyperventilating, and Steve feels a renewed sensed of urgency.

“Hey, it’s okay…” he tries again, taking a slow step forward.

It’s another mistake, as in the next moment, Loki’s launched himself to his feet, quicker than any kid his age should be able, and faster than Steve can really follow, he goes flying towards the small dining table a few feet to his right, diving underneath it and scrabbling as he pushes himself under one of the hard backed chairs.

And Steve feels his heart sink, as he watches the boy curl in on himself, hands coming up over his head, pressing himself down into a ball, forehead against his knees.

He’s shaking viciously, uncontrollably, and Steve knows it’s because he thinks he’s trapped.

Jesus, he’s handled this entire situation like a rookie.

He waits a moment, eyes still on the child, trying to figure out in his mind how best to proceed.

Loki’s absolutely petrified, that’s obvious. And Steve’s got to find some way to calm him down.

And then it comes to him.

Forcing down his own nerves, he begins forward cautiously, keeping his gaze fixed on the boy and keeping his steps light and soft.

Still, he’s sure Loki is aware of his approach, the trembling through his tiny frame growing more pronounced by the second, and Steve has to force himself to continue, battling against the desire to back off.

When finally he finds himself within reach of the kid, he lowers himself gingerly down onto his knees, wanting to make himself appear as small and nonthreatening as possible, though he knows his chance for that is already pretty much shot to hell.

He’s just beginning to reach out, Loki’s name on the tip of his tongue, when suddenly the boy lashes out, and if Steve had had any doubts before of who the boy was, what occurs next eradicates any such questions.

The kid’s like lightening, he’s so fast. Steve doesn’t even register the movement until after the boy’s small fingers, thin and spindly, are wrapped around his wrist. An instant after, and the captain realizes the pressure.

Loki has him in just the right hold to snap the bone of his wrist, and he’s strong. Far too strong for a child so young and small, and Steve knows, instinctively, if he were just a regular man, the bone would have been completely shattered by now.

Luckily for him, he’s not, and without really thinking about it, he reaches his free hand over, grabbing hold of Loki’s own, birdlike wrist and applying pressure to where he assumes the nerves are.

Quickly then, Loki’s grip loosens, and he whimpers, trying to pull his wrist free of Steve’s own.

If he’d been scared before, it’s tenfold now, and Steve feels nothing but heartbreak as he looks at the boy. He’d just been terrified, he knows. He’d only been trying to defend himself. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” The captain begins, lowering himself until he’s eyelevel with the boy, making certain to look at him directly.

“Loki,” he says his name, very deliberately and slowly. “it’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

And finally, blessedly, that seems to do the trick.

Hearing his name spoken, Steve watches some of the animal fear drain away from the child’s delicate features, tears still streaming thick and fast from his vibrant eyes. Only they’ve cleared somewhat, some of that terror being replaced by confusion and regard.

He blinks at Steve, still leaned back from him, tension still vibrating through his rigid frame.

Slowly then, Steve lets go his grip on Loki’s wrist, uncurling his already loosely held fingers and pulling his hand away carefully, so that the child can see his every movement.

He holds his hands up in front of him then, palms out.

“Alright Loki?” He asks, keeping his voice calm and soft.

He can see the kid recognizes his own name.

Good, Steve thinks. That’s good.

And a moment later, it’s confirmed, when for the first time since this whole thing began, he hears the boy speak.

It is with the same, unusual accent that Steve had heard in his voice before, when he was a full grown man. Only where Loki’s voice had been commanding and silken and strong then, his voice now is young and high and soft. Barely above a whisper and difficult to catch.

“Y-you… you know me?” He asks, trepidation and confusion thick in his words, and underneath it all, showing blatantly too upon the child’s features, there is hope.

And it’s another, shocking difference between how Steve remembers Loki and what he sees before him now.

When before, Loki’s face had been an absolute mask. Impossible to read. Impossible to know at all what he was really thinking. 

His face now is wide open as a book, his emotions plain and naked upon every feature.

Steve smiles kindly at him, nodding.

“Sure do kiddo.” He answers.

It occurs to him a moment after that Loki’s surprise at it means in turn the boy doesn’t know him. Doesn’t recognize him.

A thousand questions flit through the captain’s head at the realization, but for the moment, he shoves them away. He needs to deal with what’s happening now.

Loki’s eyes remain fixed on his face, still wide and confused, suspicion and fear beginning to seep back in.

He swallows thickly, body still shaking.

“… How?” He speaks again, and Steve remembers at once just how smart Loki is. Recognizes it in his appraising, intent gaze.

He isn’t someone to just take someone at their word, like most children his age.

Steve can’t tell him the truth, though. From everything he’s seeing now, he doesn’t think Loki remembers a whole lot. Or at least, not about New York, and the invasion. If he did, surely he would recognize Steve himself.

But Loki’s smart enough, the captain also thinks, that to lie to him outright would only result in him being called out.

So he settles on a half-truth.

“I know your brother. Thor.” He says.

Instantly, Loki’s eyes go wide, and there is at once such a wash of crushing, plain relief across his face, that it causes an ache deep within Steve’s chest, his throat tightening.

The tears in the boy’s eyes grow thicker, running in waves down his already wet cheeks, a wrecked, loud sob breaking from his throat.

“Th-or?” He questions brokenly through his tears. “D-do you know where m-my bb-brother is? I-I-I w-want my brother. I want my br-brother!”

The boy is crying in earnest now, and suddenly he’s clinging to Steve, small hands burying and twisting in the material of the captain’s shirt, staring up at him with pleading, desperate eyes.

“Please!” He begs. “Please, I… I want my brother.”

Steve wasn’t anticipating this reaction at all.

From everything Steve had seen and known of Loki, from every interaction with Thor, he’d assumed Loki absolutely hated his brother. That he felt no real kinship, no love or affection for him at all.

But now here he is, holding on to Steve with shaking hands, crying raggedly and begging to see Thor as though is very life were dependent upon it.

Steve wonders suddenly if it was the right to say after all. 

He doesn’t know where Thor is at the moment, or when he’ll be coming back, and he doesn’t really have any way of getting in touch with him.

But the boy in his arms is crying for him, and there is so much hope and wanting despair in Loki’s small voice, that Steve feels his own eyes grow hot with it, wishing desperately he could somehow bring the boy to his big brother.

He knows right now he can’t. 

Thor will come back eventually. He always does. But until then, Steve’s going to have to figure out how to handle this on his own.

He sighs, reaching up and placing his hands on Loki’s bony shoulders, his own palms wide enough to engulf the narrow plains.

He looks the boy in the face.

“Loki, listen.” He starts. “Your brother is off world right now. He’s not here. But…” he hastens to add when he sees Loki’s face crumple, a thick sob slipping from his lips at the news. “he’ll be back soon. Alright? I promise. And as soon as he is, you’ll be back with him. Alright?”

Loki’s breath is coming quick and hard, chest heaving underneath the absurdly large garment which serves as his own clothing. His eyes are massive within his thin, small face, staring up at Steve with fear and hope.

“I… I have your word?” He manages after long seconds, voice quivering and weak. His hands continue to kneed and tremble in the material of Steve’s shirt.

Steve nods.

“Yeah. Yes.” He says. “You have my word. I promise.”

And he means it.

The second he hears word of Thor being back, he’s going straight to him to tell him what’s going on, little of it that he knows.

His promise seems to only mildly calm the boy though, and soon Loki’s hands are losing their grip on his shirt, and he’s slumping down, thin arms coming up around himself in a pitiful looking hug, face turning down.

He continues to sniffle and whimper as he cries, and Steve can think of nothing to do but put his hand on the kid’s back and rub what he hopes are soothing circles against it.

He tries to ignore just how easily he can feel every rib and vertebrae.

“Hey,” he starts after a little while, when Loki’s weeping finally seems to be slowing down, the trembling through his frame growing less pronounced. “are you hungry? I could make you something to eat if you are?”

It takes some time, but eventually, Loki lifts his face, gazing up warily at the captain.

“I… I am somewhat.” He says quietly, almost as if he fears the confession will earn him some sort of punishment.

Steve only smiles broadly at him.

“Alright!” He says enthusiastically. “Come on then. Why don’t you have a seat at this table and I’ll cook you something up. Anything you’d like in particular? Eggs, pancakes, cereal?”

Loki looks up at him with an expression of uncertainty.

“E-eggs?” He stammers after a moment, a tone of questioning on it.

Steve continues smiling, hoping he’s being encouraging.

“Eggs it is then!” He says. “Come on.”

He reaches towards the boy, keeping his movements slow and obvious, and feels a rush of relief when Loki doesn’t freak out as he places his hold underneath the pits of the kid’s arms and pulls him gently from under the chair.

“Let’s just sit you down here.” He goes on, lifting Loki easily up of the floor and settling him down on the chair’s seat.

Loki’s so small, his feet don’t even come close to reaching the floor, and his discomfort is obvious in the way he curls in on himself once more, arms wrapping about his torso and head bowing.

“Are you cold?” Steve asks, slightly concerned. 

The kid’s practically naked still, and he’s been through so much in just the last, few hours.

Loki shakes his head.

“N-no. I… I don’t really get cold.” He says, voice again almost too soft to hear.

Steve smiles tightly down at him, wondering if the boy’s telling the truth. Hoping he is.

“Alright.” He concedes for now, reaching out and placing a gentle palm along Loki’s crown, giving his hair a little tussle. “If you are though, just let me know. Hopefully a little later we can go out and get you some proper clothes.”

Loki doesn’t really respond to that, only seeming to curl further in on himself.

Steve sighs to himself.

Eventually, he knows, he’s going to have to start asking the kid some questions. Try to figure out just what the heck is going on. How Loki got here. Just how much he remembers. All that.

For now though, he just wants to get some food in the boy and make sure he’s okay.

The rest of it can wait.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve sits across from Loki, watching him as he practically inhales the eggs on the plate before him. He’d been slightly suspicious at first, it seemed, and Steve had almost laughed when the boy had looked up at him after poking and prodding at them, confusion writ plain across his face, and asked why the eggs were so crumbly, and what the odd, red sauce was lathering them.

However they took their eggs in Asgard, clearly it wasn’t scrambled and with ketchup. 

But the kid had been starving, there can be no doubt, as once he’d gotten over his initial puzzlement, he’d taken to eating the dish with gusto. 

Though even with that, the captain notices how almost bizarrely well mannered he is. How delicately, even primly he brings the food to his mouth, how he chews with his mouth closed and cuts the eggs into pieces small enough to easily fit past his lips.

It’s so wholly the opposite of Thor.

Everything about the boy, really, is the opposite of Thor.

How soft spoken and withdrawn he is. Even shy.

How, well, scrawny he is too. Even when he’d encountered Loki fully grown, it hadn’t escaped him, how gaunt and thin the man had been. In comparison to Thor, he’d seemed downright frail.

Now of course, it was only more pronounced.

It’s as Loki’s drinking slowly but fully from the glass of water Steve had set down with his food, that Steve decides another attempt to engage him again in conversation, hoping to learn more about what’s going on.

“So, Loki,” he starts, once the boy’s put the glass back down. “Thor’s your older brother, isn’t that right?”

He already knows the answer of course. It’s only that he hopes talking about Thor will somehow help coax Loki into a more relaxed state. If they talk about something familiar and shared between them.

Loki stares up at him, seemingly frozen a moment, blinking.

His cheeks are still tracked with his by now dried tears, eyes still slightly puffy and red.

Finally, his gaze slips away, and he begins poking nervously at his food, fidgeting.

“Well… he is only a little older than me.” He at last says, and Steve can’t help but smile at the almost haughty, prideful tone to his young voice. 

“Is that right?” Steve continues, not wanting to let this opportunity go, now that he’s got the kid talking.

Loki nods, very solemnly, expression serious as he looks back up at the captain.

“Aye.” He says. “He is only just over two centuries my elder. That’s hardly older than me at all.”

Steve’s brain blanks for a moment at that.

Two centuries!?

He keeps forgetting how long lived Thor and his kind are. Practically immortal. 

Shaking himself from his momentary shock, he keeps smiling at the boy, nodding and encouraging him to go on.

Loki huffs in seeming frustration.

“Though Thor’s already been in weapons training for decades and I’m not even allowed!” 

For a moment, his voice gets slightly louder, turning to almost a squeak at his excitement, before he seems to remember himself and he looks away, cheeks turning a flushed pink.

“F-Father and Mother say I’m still too little.” He finishes in a half-mumble.

Steve instantly feels a pang of deep sympathy for the boy, remembering his own childhood, never being allowed or even able to join in any of the games of the other children.

He’d always been too small and sickly himself.

It doesn’t escape his notice either, that Loki seems to be under the impression that he is in fact currently living out his life as a boy. He’s knows, in the back of his mind, that it’s going to present an issue, when Thor does come back, and Loki sees him as a full grown man.

They aren’t going to be able to keep the truth from the kid.

But that’s a problem for later, Steve reasons.

“Hey,” he starts. “I’m sure that’ll change soon. You’ve just got to give yourself some time to grow.”

But Loki only shakes his head in dismay, eyes still fixed down.

He isn’t even eating anymore.

“No, I… I am very small. All the other boys my age are already well advanced in their training. Boys younger even. E-even Sif has already begun.” He drops his fork, arms coming around himself again. “I fear I shall n-never pull astride Thor. How… How am I to aide him on the fields of battle if… if I do not even know how to wield a sword? If I am always so sick and confined to the healing halls?”

He looks up at Steve then, eyes sad and desperate.

And Steve feels his heart ache.

“You get sick a lot little buddy?” Steve asks, overwhelmed suddenly by the growing similarities between them.

Loki nods dejectedly, and Steve can see the tears, again beginning to well in his eyes.

“I’m sick all the time.” Loki says, voice wavering slightly. “I’m not supposed to know, but I hear Mother talking with Eir and she says I have a fr… a fragile constitution. That means I’m not very strong and things can hurt me more easily than… than other children.

But Thor’s never sick. He… he never gets sick, and the other’s all laugh at me and tell me I must bring Father shame, ‘cause a Prince isn’t supposed to be so weak! But I don’t mean to be! I try to be strong! I do!”

The kid’s working himself into a frenzy again, his chest starting to heave in panicked breathes.

Steve’s spares a thought for how unnatural it seems, that a boy so young should be so anxious and worried.

The rest of him is consumed by increasing sadness and sympathy.

“Hey, hey…” Steve starts, reaching out automatically and resting a hand on the child’s shoulder. “it’s okay.”

It does little to calm his worsening state though, as he begins again to cry. 

“Loki, hey.” Steve continues. He moves his hand to cup the boys face, wrapping his fingers round to the back of his head. “Look little man, you can’t listen to all of what those other kids say. They don’t know anything. Hey, look at me.”

It takes a few, long seconds, but gradually, Loki lifts his face to him, eyes wet.

Steve smiles at him.

“You know,” he starts. “I used to be really small too, and sick all the time. I was so sick most of the time, I wasn’t even allowed outside to play. And the other kids used to make fun of me too.”

Loki blinks rapidly up at him, uncurling one arm and lifting a hand, wiping clumsily at his eyes.

“T-truly?” He asks, disbelief thick in his voice as he takes in Steve’s form. “B-but you’re strong. You look strong.”

Steve nods.

“I am.” He says plainly. “But I wasn’t always this way, I promise you. Just don’t listen to any of the mean stuff kids say, because if you just work hard and set your sights on what you want, you can do anything. And I mean that.”

Steve knows even as he’s saying it that it sounds corny. But he also knows the impact bullying can have on a kid, the evidence of which is all too obvious in Loki now.

And he knows if he’d had someone to tell him the same thing when he was growing up, he wouldn’t have thought it was corny at all.

Loki’s eyes have drifted away from the captain again, and he seems to truly be contemplating what Steve’s said, expression thoughtful, even as tears continue down his cheeks.

Again, the boy wipes at them, before finally returning his gaze to Steve’s face.

“My Mother conveys similar sentiments.” He says, once more adopting a very serious, adult tone. 

It really is a challenge for Steve not to smile at it. He knows he shouldn’t. Knows that likely the kid would take offense at it.

“Thor as well.” Loki goes on, nodding. 

“Well, you see!” Steve grins. “We can’t all be wrong.”

Again, Loki nods.

“I… I shall endeavor to heed your advice then.” Again, he wipes his eyes, his fit finally beginning to dissipate back into calm. 

A moment later, it seems to be replaced entirely by a kind of nervousness, as Loki begins poking again at his eggs, eyes fixed down.

“May I ask you your name?” He asks softly, shyly even.

Steve blinks.

He hadn’t even realized he’d yet to tell the boy.

“Oh.” He starts. “Yeah. I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.”

Loki glances up at him, and Steve smiles, holding his hand out to shake.

The boy eyes the offered hand a moment, wary and somewhat confused looking, before slowly he reaches back.

Steve’s not at all surprised when Loki wraps his skinny fingers round his forearm instead of taking his hand, his grip reaching only about halfway round. Steve in turn grips Loki’s forearm, his own hold surrounding the limb easily.

It’s the same way Thor always greets everyone on the team.

“Steve Rogerson.” Loki nods, as though greeting an official or some head of state. “And I am Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard.”

Steve can’t help his smile as it stretches wide across his face. 

The kid’s damn cute.

“Pleased to meet you Loki Odinson.” He says. 

They hold onto one another for a moment longer, until Loki releases his grip, drawing his hand back to his lap, his eyes still fixed on Steve questioningly.

“If I may,” he starts. “how do you know my brother?”

“Well, he’s a teammate of mine…” Steve starts without thinking, halting abruptly when he realizes how nonsensical this is going to sound to the kid. 

For all the captain can tell, Loki still thinks Thor is just a kid himself.

“A… team-mate?” Loki asks an instant later.

“Well I mean, we’re friends, your brother and I. And we’re part of a team of… well, the media likes to call us super heroes, but we go out and help people who are in trouble. And fight crime. So in a way, I guess we are.”

Loki’s expression is utterly lost for a moment, and Steve gets the feeling the boy hasn’t understood a word he’s just said.

He swallows thickly then, the thin column of his throat bobbing noticeably. 

“… What Realm is this?” He asks after a long moment, voice even more hushed than usual. 

He sounds suddenly afraid again.

“Realm?” Steve asks, for a moment not understanding. And then abruptly he remembers. “Oh, you mean like… well, this is Earth.” He says.

“Earth?” Loki questions, sounding completely confused.

“Uh, I mean…” what the hell did Thor call it again. “Midgard?”

“Midgard!?” Loki starts, alarm thick in his voice. “B-but… but Father says we are forbidden from traveling to Midgard! He… h-he says it is most dangerous, filled with savages and barbaric cultures! He says…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Steve interrupts him, putting his hands up, unable to keep himself from chuckling. “Slow down there little guy. That’s not true. I mean, people can be pretty awful sometimes, but we’ve got some good stuff about us too.”

Loki looks anything but convinced, the panic still plain in his eyes.

“But Father says…!” He begins again.

And Steve suddenly realizes, if Loki still believes himself to be living in the same timeframe as his actual childhood, then…

Didn’t Thor say he was over a thousand years old? And that would make Loki comparably the same age.

Abruptly he understands where the boy’s notions are coming from.

A thousand years ago on Earth was a pretty barbaric, brutal time in human history.

“Well, some places on… Midgard, are like that.” Steve decides to compromise, trying to be careful with how much he reveals to Loki. He still doesn’t completely understand what’s going on, or how or why. He really needs to get a hold of Thor. “But other places are very civilized and peaceful. Like here, in America.” 

“A-Americ-ah?” Loki asks.

Steve nods.

“Yeah. That’s the name of our country. And we’ve got some pretty advanced stuff here. You’ll see, once I take you around.”

At this, Loki’s eyes widen, obvious fear clouding them.

“Y-you mean o-out… out there?” He stammers.

“Yeah.” Steve nods. “Outside, I mean.”

“But it’s… I-I…” Loki starts to say, voice wavering slightly. He looks abruptly terrified, but a moment later, he shuts his mouth and glances down, his hands beginning to fidget in the material of the oversized shirt he wears.

“Loki,” Steve begins, worry gripping him hard over the child’s distressed state.

But then Loki is talking again.

“I… I-I suppose it is as a warrior would do.” He begins feebly. “It is very big an-and… and loud here. But… but a true warrior would not be afraid.”

And suddenly Steve is remembering how he first found Loki, terrified and naked and being chased by that group of boys.

It hadn’t even crossed the captain’s mind yet to question Loki about any of that. About what he maybe remembered of what had happened to him, if he remembered anything at all. And how he’d ended up running from a group of teenagers.

No wonder the kid was so scared to go outside. Steve doesn’t know what Asgard is like at all, but from everything he’s heard Thor say of his home, it’s a whole heck of a lot smaller and quieter than most cities on Earth. 

You take a kid from there, and throw them into the middle of New York, one of the biggest and noisiest cities in the world, well…

And now here Loki was, trying to put on a brave face and overcome his fears.

Maybe it isn’t such a good idea, Steve thinks, to bring the boy out into the world just yet. Loki’s already wound tighter than any child should ever be.

“You know what,” Steve starts, having made up his mind. “how about this? I’ll got out, get you some proper fitting clothes, maybe pick up some dinner for later tonight. And we’ll think about going out together for some other time. What do you think of that?”

He smiles at the boy encouragingly as Loki glances up at him, questioning and so clearly hopeful, it makes Steve’s heart ache. 

He gets the awful feeling Loki isn’t often allowed to heed his own sense of caution. Not without being reprimanded for it, or made fun of.

He remembers Loki’s apparent and frankly frightening recklessness when he and his team had fought him before. Remembers wondering how someone could grow to be so totally dismissive of their own safety as Loki appeared to the captain to be.

“I… I will face the challenge of Midgard’s wilderness Steve Rogerson. You need not try and protect me.” Loki says, again adopting a tone of maturity, so out of place coming from a boy so young.

Steve keeps his smile fixed in place, nodding.

“I know.” He tells Loki. “It’s just, you’ve been through a lot today, and it’s probably better if you rest some more. You’ll feel better sooner if you do, and then we can work on figuring out how to get you back with your family.”

And that seems to do the trick.

Loki’s narrow shoulders seem to sag in relief, and his face turns down.

“Alright.” He says in little more than a whisper, and Steve knows from how easily he gave in that it was exactly what the kid had been hoping to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again guys, your support on this story has been absolutely phenomenal, and I can’t thank you enough! I’m just floored! Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think if you get a chance!


	4. Chapter 4

Steve had been reluctant to leave the kid alone, even if it was just for an hour or so.

Strangely, he found it wasn’t from a mistrust of Loki himself, but rather fear of others finding out about the boy and coming to take him away.

There was such a disarming innocence to Loki. 

Steve would never have been able to picture him so when first he’d encountered him. 

Loki hadn’t even seemed like a person to him then. More like some demented caricature or insane approximation of an actual man. There’d been nothing kind or nice or innocent to him. 

In retrospect, the captain realizes the foolery of his own thoughts and assumptions. 

No one was born bad, of that Steve was absolutely certain. And no matter how evil his acts, Loki had once been a child too, and Thor’s love for him had to have come from somewhere, deep and unbending as it was.

No one had ever really bothered to ask the Thunder god about what Loki had been like before, but from the times Thor spoke of his brother, Steve had been able to glean easily enough that Loki had once been good, or at least, Thor had seen him that way.

Seeing for himself Loki as a boy, Steve understands fully now where that opinion had come from.

Loki was a sweet kid. Just really sweet. Shy and soft spoken and gentle.

As he is, it’s almost impossible for Steve to imagine him ever turning into the deranged lunatic he and his team had faced off against a year ago.

There’s nothing of that man in the boy he’s taken in.

Loki had assured him in that adorably grown up manner of his that he would alright on his own for a while, and promised to be on his best behavior until the captain’s return and not leave the apartment.

Steve had told him good, and then proceeded to take the kid’s measurements with a tape, a process to which Loki had been endlessly curious, fascinated by the units of inches and centimeters. He’d gone on to explain that, on Asgard, they used a completely different means of measurement, something so ridiculously complex sounding that Loki had lost Steve about a quarter of the way through. 

Loki had launched into a litany of such advanced sounding mathematics that even Tony might have a difficult time keeping up, doing so with an ease and sureness that spoke of total comprehension.

Steve had known Loki was smart.

Thor often spoke of his brother as “the cleverest of the gods”, calling him brilliant and “dangerously sharp of mind”. 

“You mean he’s a genius?” Tony had once asked, rolling his eyes, and Thor had nodded.

“Aye.” He’d said. “That is your word for it.”

Tony had gone on to make some remark about how Loki hadn’t acted too much like a genius in his little take over attempt, and Thor had grown angry and upset, insisting that Loki hadn’t been acting himself at all then. That normally his brother displayed absolutely ingenious strategic thinking and instincts, and that it was always Loki himself who conceived of their plans of attack when upon the field of battle, always to much success. 

Steve remembers his teammates shrugging off Thor’s claims at the time and not really paying them much regard.

But listening to Loki talk, listening to him reeling off numbers and equations which made the most advanced mathematics on Earth sound kind of rudimentary, with a speed and precisian which just seemed absurd for a boy who looked, in physical years, no older than six, well, the captain was beginning to put a lot more stock in Thor’s assertions to his brother’s intellect.

More off putting still though was Loki’s obvious youth and inexperience, mixed with that undeniable genius.

The boy was a paradox. Clearly, frighteningly intelligent, but so very much a child still. 

He’d giggled uncontrollably when Steve had accidentally brushed up against a ticklish area while taking his measurements, hiding his face shying behind his hands.

And in just the space of a few, short hours of knowing one another, he’d taken to holding Steve’s hand, the way some children do their parents while crossing the street.

That Loki trusts him so implicitly, so quickly, speaks to the child’s lack of worldliness, and is, to Steve, more than a little daunting.

What if he does something to betray that trust? 

As it is, he’s had to push such concerns from his mind, knowing he can do nothing about it but concentrate on what’s happening now, and make certain things are alright for the kid.

He’d been as fast as he could in going out shopping. 

Loki was such a tiny little boy, it was actually somewhat of a challenge, finding proper fitting clothing. 

He’d given up after about fifteen minutes of searching through the sections meant for boys ranging in age from about seven to ten, and opted on the sections for toddlers and very young children, about three to six years of age. And there he’d finally found some clothes that would fit the kid.

He’d probably overdone it, really, buying about ten pairs of pants and fifteen shirts, three pairs of sneakers, a bunch of socks and underwear, and a coat.

But Steve didn’t know what Loki would like, and he’d wanted to do everything he could to make the boy comfortable.

And so he finds himself balancing about five different bags on his arms as he tries to let himself into his apartment.

“Hey, Loki?” He calls as he finally manages it, closing the door quietly behind him.

He doesn’t hear anything at first, and he tries to quell the nervous tension which instantly seeps into his frame, moving forward, through the living room.

“Loki?” He calls again, mouth unpleasantly dry.

Suddenly his eyes fill with a green flash of light, so bright it momentarily blinds him, and he stumbles back a step, blinking rapidly.

A moment later, his vision clears, and standing a few feet before him, staring up with wide, excited eyes, is Loki. Clutched to his chest, Steve quickly notices, is the laptop computer Tony had given him.

“Well met, Steve Rogerson!” Loki greets enthusiastically.

The kid is practically shaking with excitement, Steve realizes, shifting from foot to foot and smiling, if not broadly, then genuinely.

And then he’s holding the laptop out and up.

“This is a most fascinating contraption!” He starts. “Can you explain to me what magic powers it?”

Magic?

Steve blinks.

Magic!

That’s… what Loki just did… the flash of green light…

That was magic.

Oh, jeeze, Steve hadn’t even… he hadn’t even considered that the kid would be able to do… all of what he’d seen Loki do back during the invasion. And his suddenly just… just appearing in front of him, seemingly out of thin air, he’d never seen Loki do that. 

Why hadn’t this occurred to him? 

Maybe, he supposes, because Loki had seemed so vulnerable and afraid. It hadn’t registered that the boy might possess any kind of power at all.

“Ummm,” Steve starts, struggling a moment to regain his thoughts and find his words.

Loki continues starting up at him, head craned almost all the way back in order to see Steve’s face, eyes expectant and strangely patient.

“Listen, why don’t we… have a seat over here.” The captain suggests, nodding towards the couch.

Loki blinks, expression falling somewhat, and Steve can’t help but feel bad, like he’s let the kid down somehow.

“Oh, al… alright.” Loki replies after a moment, before turning obediently and moving towards the sofa, clambering up onto it with some difficulty.

Steve sighs, moving to take a seat beside him, placing his bags down on the floor.

Loki continues to look up at him, and Steve can’t help but smile in return, putting an arm around the boy’s narrow shoulders and hugging him to his side.

He’s so tiny, Steve can hardly begin to believe it. He thinks, even, the kid may have given him a run for his money in the undersized department, back in the day.

It only makes the captain want to protect Loki more fiercely. 

“So, listen Loki,” he starts. “I’ll do my best to explain to you how that thing works.” He says, indicating the laptop, which Loki still clutches to his chest. “Though I’ll warn you now, I’m no expert.”

Suddenly, Loki is smiling again.

“That’s alright!” He exclaims. “You know more than I, and so I can learn!”

Steve smiles tightly.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell the boy that he probably really doesn’t know much more at all than him. 

“Right.” He says. “But hey, it looks like you can do some pretty neat stuff yourself. Is that magic too?” 

For an instant, Loki’s eyes light up, and his smile turns to an actual grin. 

Only just as quickly, the expression fades, and the boy’s shoulders seem to slump, finally turning away from Steve. He hugs the computer closer to his chest.

“I… I am not very good.” He stammers softly, almost sounding ashamed. “Mama says I am but… b-but she is only being kind, I know. And anyway, mm-magic is argr. It isn’t a p-proper practice for a man.”

Steve feels his heart sink in the same instant a flash of anger flares in his belly.

Loki had been so clearly excited when he’d mentioned his magic, only to a moment later behave as though it were something he should be ashamed of, and the captain knew all too well where that kind of thinking found its root.

No child should be made to feel bad about the things they like, or the things they’re good at.

Steve himself is only all too familiar with what that kind of bullying and badgering can do to a person.

“Hey,” he starts gently, nudging Loki under his chin with his knuckle, trying to get the boy to look at him.

When finally he does, Steve smiles.

“That’s not true.” He says. “First of all, you’ve obviously got a lot of talent, if you can just appear and disappear at will like that.”

Loki blinks, and then looks away, shrugging his small shoulders and hugging the laptop closer still.

“And second, you shouldn’t listen to what other people say. If you like magic, and like doing magic, then that’s good enough. And you know what else…”

Loki glances to him, uncertain.

Steve continues smiling.

“I’ll bet they’re just jealous, since they can’t do magic like you can.” He goes on. “It makes them nervous, that you’re so good at something they’re no good at at all. You know, people used to make fun of me too, because I liked to draw and paint, and they said that was for girls too.”

Loki is staring up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes now.

“T-truly?” He asks, and there’s so much hope in the kids voice, it makes Steve’s throat feel tight.

“Absolutely!” He forces out, keeping his smile in place. “And listen, I’d love for you to tell me how it works, if you want to. See, I’m just a man, a, uh… mortal. We don’t really have magic here.”

“Truly?!” Loki says again, eyes widening further. “But… what of this contraption!?” He holds out the laptop. “True I… I sense no magic in it but… but it behaves as would a magical artifact.”

“Well, you see…” Steve starts, grasping for ways to explain something which he really has no clue about himself. “it runs on a thing called electricity and, uh… well…” he’s grasping for straws here, he knows. “Here, let me show you.”

He takes the computer from the boys hands, Loki relinquishing it without protest, and flips the screen up. The thing lights up, already having been powered on, and Steve glances at the god-child, eyebrows raised in questioning.

Loki actually looks sheepish as he says…

“I… I was able to make it listen to me…” his voice comes out barely a whisper.

Steve can’t help the laugh which slips past his teeth.

“Well, that’s a heck of a lot more than I could make it do when I first tried my hand at it.” He admits without hesitation. He reaches over then, ruffling the kid’s hair, and it broadens his grin as Loki giggles and ducks away.

“I still don’t know a whole lot. You’d be better off talking to my friend Tony about all this…” he starts, and then freezes, jaw tightening. Frantically, he worries that he’s just made a huge mistake, and he glances nervously at Loki, waiting anxiously for the kid’s reaction.

But Loki doesn’t seem to have noticed anything at all, still staring up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

Steve swallows, breathing out slowly.

He knows eventually that he’s going to have to tell the rest of the team about this. There’s no way he can keep it a secret. 

He’s not so much worried about that, as he is about Fury finding out…

“Um,” he starts, trying to swerve his mind back on track. “but anyway, this is, uh, this is what we call the internet.” He double clicks on the Google Chrome icon, just like Tony showed him, and a window pops up quickly.

Loki’s eyes, if possible, go wider still in amazement as he watches Steve’s rudimentary navigation and explanation of what the internet is, typing in the few websites he’s visited and showing the child how it all works.

“It’s basically a really quick way to gather information.” Steve tells him. “Think of it as sort of an endless library, where you can look up any topic you want instantly.”

“A… a l-library?” Loki asks, and his voice Steve notices is filled with absolute wonder.

The captain nods.

“Yup. Here, tell me something you’re interested in, and I’ll show you how the search engine works.”

Steve watches then as Loki’s face settles itself into a look of concentrated thought, the boy biting his lower lip.

For a moment, the captain thinks he’s got an idea, but then he closes his mouth and shakes his head, resuming his contemplative expression.

“Ohh, I know!” He at last declares. 

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“Elvin magical theorem, particularly in relation to shape changing and glamour, and inherent and essential differences therein.”

Steve blinks, thinking for a moment that Loki must be joking.

But the boy’s face is perfectly serious and expectant, and the captain quickly realizes that isn’t the case.

“Uh,” he starts stupidly. “well, remember I said we don’t really… have magic here on Ear… on Midgard?”

Loki’s expression doesn’t change.

“Aye.” He says. “But that should not preclude you from the study of magic, should it?”

Well, damn…

“That’s true.” Steve answers slowly. “But, um, how about we start with something a little simpler?”

Loki huffs, clearly disappointed, and Steve can’t help thinking how cute he looks.

“Very well then.” The boy at last relents. “Unicorns. I’ve yet to see one, well, see one living. Father says they are spectacular creatures though.”

Unicorns?

“Right, er, okay.” Steve agrees, not particularly wanting to disappoint the kid again. Unicorns aren’t real. At least, not here on Earth. But there should still be information regarding their lore and mythology.

So he types it in to Google, and instantly, hundreds of thousands of results pop up.

“Oh,” Loki breathes, sounding awed as Steve hands him the computer back.

It is only a matter of seconds before the kid is thoroughly engrossed, clicking away and reading, and Steve can’t help but smile.

He was going to suggest to Loki that he should maybe try on some of the clothes he’d bought for him, but he supposes that can wait.

In the meantime, he’ll make himself busy with preparing dinner.

The boy looks like he must still be starving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, huge thank you’s to everyone who’s read and/or reviewed this story! I hope you continue to enjoy it!


	5. Chapter 5

After making the two of them dinner, which Steve had been pleased to observe Loki consume with gusto, and helping the boy to try on a few of the clothes he’d purchased for him, which Steve was also pleased to find fit Loki quite well, he’d proceeded to draw up a bath for the boy.

Loki had stood by him as the tub filled, watching the waterline rise by the moment, small hands on the edge of the tub, standing on tiptoes to see well over it.

Steve had been somewhat embarrassed when, after he’d been satisfied with the temperature and level, he’d turned off the tap and found Loki undressing in front of him, with no apparent hesitation or modesty. He’d himself looked aside, mumbling out that he could go, if Loki liked, but the child had seemed oblivious to his discomfort, giving enthusiastic permission for the captain to stay, if he liked, before moving towards the tub and struggling briefly to lift himself over the edge and in.

Steve had ended up needing to help him, picking him up under the pits of his arms and lowering him into the water.

It ended up amusing Steve to no end, seeing how very childlike Loki was, how very much like any young boy he was, the way he splashed about in the water, slapping his hands along the surface and giggling delightedly when water swooshed up at the motion, or ducking his head fully under it and attempting to hold his breath for long periods.

Steve never let him stay under for longer than a few seconds at a time.

Though eventually Loki had calmed down, and allowed Steve to help wash him, the captain taking care and deliberateness in the way he ran the washcloth across the boy’s pale skin. 

He’d asked in earnest curiosity what “shampoo” was, and had held an expression of pure wonderment when Steve had explained and then proceeded to work the stuff into Loki’s perfectly black locks, making sure to tell the boy to keep his eyes firmly closed before washing it out with a container he filled with water from the bath.

From there, the conversation had turned to what Loki had explored on the internet, at which point, the boy had grown somewhat agitated, declaring indignantly that all the information he’d looked up on unicorns had claimed they were a mythical creature, purely a fabrication and “not real”.

“They are real!” Loki had insisted angrily, his delicate features scrunching up in affront, to which Steve couldn’t help but smile and chuckle at. “I’ve even seen one. I confess the creature was not a living specimen, but I know it was real. Father told me so, and Father would never lie to me.”

Steve had smiled and nodded, and tried to calm the boy by explaining again how magic wasn’t really a thing on Earth, and that since unicorns were very much magical creatures, it would explain why the humans thought them to be a fantasy.

This seemed to placate Loki somewhat, though he’d looked dubious, glancing sidelong at Steve and wondering aloud how it was a realm of Yggdrisil could be so backwards.

Steve had awkwardly laughed it off, shrugging noncommittally before deciding then was as good a time as any to announce bed, helping Loki from the tub, drying him off with a towel and dressing him in one of the new sets of pajama’s he’d bought.

He’d then sat Loki down on a chair in the living room to comb his hair, running the comb back through the incredibly soft tresses, slicking it back perfectly behind his ears.

It had shocked Steve, when he’d done so, to see how very obvious it was the boy who was now with him, this young, innocent child, was indeed the same man he and his team had before fought to save the world from. But the evidence was plain in the kid’s features. His face exact to the man but for the look of extreme youth upon it.

Steve still could hardly believe it, could hardly reconcile that this sweet little boy was the same, raving madman they’d all faced, and not for the first time since this all began, the captain had found himself wondering, if this was how Loki had been as a child, if this is what he’d been like growing up, what could have happened to him, to drive him towards such violence and anger and hatred.

It was a question which deserved contemplation, but like so many things involving Loki now, Steve had put it aside for another time.

He’d been pretty beat, and he thought after everything, Loki probably was too, and so he’d put the boy up in the guest bedroom, after offering to let him sleep in his own bed, but Loki had shaken his head and insisted he was “grown enough to have my own rooms.”. A point which he’d seemed incredibly proud of, and so Steve had let it go.

And indeed, the second Loki’s head had hit the pillow and Steve had pulled the covers up over his shoulder, the boy had seemed to fall asleep, curled in on himself almost protectively.

The captain hadn’t been able to help brushing his fingers affectionately over Loki’s soft cheek, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear, before finally backing away from the bed and cutting the lights.

He’d fallen asleep pretty quickly himself after that, despite his brain replaying the events of the past two days over and over in his mind, and worrying what the heck he was going to do when things inevitably came to a head.

But it seems no time has passed at all when in the morning, he’s roused by an insistent banging on his apartment’s front door.

It takes a moment for Steve’s mind to clear and to recognize the sound, but the moment he does, his eyes snap wide, all traces of sleep instantly erased from his body and he rockets to a sitting position, head turning towards his rooms entry.

The knocking sounds again, and a moment later, the captain is up, hastily pulling a shirt on over his head and striding out into the hallway.

He peeks his head in the doorway of the guestroom on his way, seeing, thankfully, Loki still curled up and asleep on the bed, just as he’d left him the night before. The only thing out of place seems to be the covers, which have been tossed off the boy almost completely, but Steve has little time to contemplate it as again, there comes a loud banging.

He rushes towards the front door, mind working a mile a minute, dread seeping into his bones as his imagination runs wild with who could be knocking on his door at… he glances at the wall clock, eight o’clock in the morning.

Pressing his face to the peephole, and he feels his stomach drop out from under him.

It’s Natasha.

Of course, it’s Natasha, God damn it, and that means SHIELD knows. Of course they know. Steve had been stupid to think he could keep this from them for any period of time.

For a moment, wildly, he thinks about grabbing Loki and sneaking out through the fire escape. But he discards the notion a second afterwards. He may be a super solider, and physically superior to almost every human on Earth. But Natasha is SHIELD most skilled and dangerous spy. She’d track them down in no time.

Breathing in, trying to steel himself, and acknowledging the futility of the situation, he reaches for the deadbolt.

He’s just going to have to protect Loki, somehow…

A moment later, he has the door unlatched and is pulling it open, greeted by Natasha’s smirking expression, her arms crossed over her tight body.

“Hey there Soldier.” She greets smoothly. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Actually,” Steve replies, voice flat. “you did.”

“Mm.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Mind if I come in?” 

She takes a step forward, and Steve can’t help the way he moves instantly to block her path.

“Mind telling me first why you’re here?” He asks, and all joviality drains quickly from Natasha’s face.

“Cut the crap Steve.” She says, voice decidedly less pleasant. “Fury sent me. We know you picked up some kid yesterday. One who witnesses say they saw get hit by a car doing about forty and mysteriously fits the description of one would be world dominating villain.”

Steve feels his shoulders slump, a sigh escaping his lips as he averts his eyes.

“Is he dead?” She asks bluntly. “Witnesses say they saw you carry him off, and that he was still breathing when you did.”

Finally, Steve steps aside, letting her in.

“Yeah,” he starts, closing the door softly behind once she’s in the apartment. “he’s alive. Listen, Natasha, he’s…”

He turns, finding her standing in the middle of the room, scanning the apartment.

After a moment, she turns back to him, one eyebrow cocked in questioning.

“Yes?” She presses when he just stands there, staring at her.

Steve straightens himself, hands fisting at his sides.

“He’s just a kid, Natasha. I won’t let you… I won’t let SHIELD hurt him.”

Natasha seems unimpressed, that same smirk sliding back into place.

“You say he’s just a kid, I say he’s just manipulating you.”

“He’s not.” Steve snaps immediately, voice hard and angry. At her disbelieving look, he repeats himself. “He’s not.”

“Hmm. I’ll be the judge of that, I think.” She says, turning back around and looking once more at her surrounding. “Remember Steve, god of lies. The bastard makes manipulation his trade. It’s his bread and butter. And I should know.” She turns back to him. “I do the same thing.”

Steve opens his mouth, about to offer a retort, when suddenly a sound draws his attention away from her, his eyes snapping to the hallway, widening when he sees Loki standing at it’s threshold, blanket clutched in his hands, against his chest, staring back with equally wide, sleep filled eyes, gaze shifting back and forth between him and Natasha.

“Loki,” Steve starts unthinkingly, taking a step towards him.

Of course, Natasha’s already seen him, and she steps forward too.

It’s enough to spook the kid, who stumbles back a step, eyes widening further, hands shaking as they press the blanket more tightly against his chest.

“S-Steve Rogers-son?” He stammers, voice trembling badly. “Is she…”

“She’s not going to hurt you.” Steve tries vainly to reassure, taking another, more cautious step towards the boy.

Natasha, thankfully, has stopped her advance, eyeing Loki critically.

Steve chances a look at her, her expression unreadable.

“I’m just here to ask you a few questions Loki.” She starts, voice cold and emotionless.

Loki picks up on it instantly, his how features shifting into an almost terrified expression, eyes going at once glassy.

He turns to Steve, and when he again speaks, his voice is thick with barely suppressed tears.

“Please Steve Rogerson, don’t… don’t let her take me!” He begs frantically, taking another step back. “Please, I’ll… I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Whatever I’ve done wrong, I… I won’t do so again, y-you… you have my word, please!”

“Loki, it’s okay.” Steve tries urgently, taking another step closer, hands held up. “You’re not going anywhere, and you didn’t do anything. Okay? Natasha here’s my friend, and she really does just want to ask you a few questions. Isn’t that right Natasha?” He looks over at her, glaring, hoping she can read the warning in his eyes.

If she does try to take Loki, she’s going to have to deal with him.

She doesn’t even bother returning his gaze, her eyes still fixed on the boy.

“That’s right.” She says, smooth as glass. 

It’s always disturbed Steve, how easily and well Natasha can lie. 

“Just a few questions.” She goes on.

Loki’s eyes move back to her, utterly suspicious and untrusting. A ragged breath escapes past his lips, wet and unsteady sounding. He takes another step back, and this time he loses his footing, falling backwards and hard to the floor.

For a moment, his face goes white with fear, green eyes huge and too bright.

“Stay there.” Steve snaps at Natasha, and somehow, she listens to him, not moving, as he closes the rest of the distance to Loki, his approach slow and careful, hands still held palm up.

Loki looks like he wants to bolt, but he stays where he is, eyes fixed on Steve’s approaching figure, chest rising and falling in now heaving breaths.

The captain crouches down low once he’s reached the kid’s side, hands still up. He tries smiling reassuringly.

“Hey kiddo,” he starts softly. “you’re alright. Right?”

Loki doesn’t answer, just looking back at him, uncertain and fearful.

“Listen,” Steve says, keeping his eyes fixed on Loki’s own. “I promise I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, or take you anywhere. Alright? You have my word.”

It takes several, long, agonizing moments, but at last, Loki pushes himself to his hands and knees, crawling towards Steve and throwing his arms around the captain’s waist, hugging him desperately and burying his face against Steve’s chest.

He’s trembling, and Steve holds him back, feeling his heart sink.

He shoots Natasha another, baleful glare over the top of the kid’s head. Natasha watches in turn with clearly disapproving eyes.

Steve doesn’t care.

He knows once she talks to Loki, she’ll realize he isn’t lying. That this isn’t some sort of manipulation on the boy’s part. 

He’s sure of it.

//

Things between Loki and Natasha are tense.

He’s clearly terrified of her, his voice barely rising to a whisper with each answer he gives.

Natasha isn’t being particularly mean, though she isn’t being particularly nice either, questioning the kid bluntly in a flat, inflectionless voice.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” She presses, after asking him pointedly if he knows her, if he remembers anything about being in New York, both of which he’d answered in the negative, sounding desperate and confused.

Steve’s sitting at Loki’s side, watching as the boy curls his arms around himself, shoulders hunching and looking away from her. He wants to grab him up and take him away from Natasha right now.

Objectively, he knows she’s just doing her job, and making sure the situation is secure, but Loki’s already been through so much, and if she can’t see he isn’t lying, well…

“You’re trying to deduce my sincerity.” Loki mutters softly then, fingers tightening over his thin arms. “You think I’m lying and… and dangerous, s-somehow. You are trying to catch me in a lie.”

The observation gives both Steve and Natasha pause. Steve glances to her, seeing her expressionless mask momentarily falter, revealing her surprise, before it falls easily back into place.

“That’s not…” she starts, but Loki cuts her off.

“I know not w-what I’ve done to s-so win your ire, nor why you think me s-so vile when you do not know me and I do n-not know you, but… but I am being forthright in my answers to you. I know you not, nor why you should think I’ve before been to your N-New York.”

Finally, he turns back to her, his eyes overbright, but he holds her gaze, still shrunken in on himself.

“I… I don’t remember how I came to be here.” He says, and his voice sounds small and frightened. “I last remember being in my rooms, i-in Asgard. Mm-my Mother was there. She was… was speaking to me. F-Father too and then… then I woke here, in Midgard. What happened between those two moments, I know not either. I was alone and wandered for several days, I think. And then there were some boys and they… they…”

His voice trails off here, and he looks away.

Steve finally decides to intercede, reaching out and placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Alright,” he says. “I think that’s enough questions for now.”

Natasha looks like she’s about to argue, but Steve doesn’t give her the chance.

“Hey, Loki, how about you go get cleaned up and try on one of your new outfits, and I’ll make us some breakfast?”

“A-alright.” Loki agrees after a moment, shooting one last, wary glance at Natasha before sliding off his chair and disappearing down the hallway, towards his bedroom.

Steve waits until he hears the door close before he stands, gesturing for Natasha to follow him to the kitchen.

Once there, he leans back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, leveling his teammate with a hard stare.

Natasha stands opposite him, arms also folded, holding his gaze.

“So?” Steve starts, waiting to hear what she has to say.

Natasha continues staring at him a long moment, before her stance finally seems to relax somewhat and she glances away, shrugging.

“He’s hard to get a read on.” She says flatly. “He doesn’t seem to be lying but…”

“But what Natasha?” Steve cuts her off. “He isn’t lying, and you know it, you just don’t want to believe it.”

“And maybe you want to believe it a little too much Steve.” She shoots back, before sighing, shaking her head. “Look, I’m just trying to do my job, and trying to protect this planet. Whether he’s really this child he appears to be or not, the fact remains, he’s still a dangerous war criminal, and letting him run loose is a major risk.”

Steve sighs too, frustrated and angry.

He brings his hands to his temples, rubbing them, closing his eyes as he tries to think.

“I know that ‘Tash, it’s just…” he shakes his head, looking at her. “if you could’ve seen him before. He was so confused, and scared, and… he’s just a little kid. I know you have doubts, but I’m telling you.”

“I know it seems convincing Steve,” Natasha counters. “but you have to remember who we’re dealing with. He’s smart. I don’t know if he’s playing some game with me or…”

She stops when she sees Steve smirking at her, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips.

“What?” She snaps.

“He isn’t playing a game Natasha.” He answers easily. “You just can’t believe he saw through your own. Yeah, he’s smart. Smart enough to see when someone else is trying to manipulate him. I know you think we’re dealing with the same man we did before, but ‘Tash, we’re not. Whoever Loki was before he… went crazy, this is it. Listen, I don’t know how this happened, or how he got to be this way. But I do know that very few of us on this team were denied second chances when we needed them, and I just think it would be nothing short of hypocrisy to deny anyone else that. Even Loki.”

For a long while then, Natasha eyes him, her expression, as usual, impossible to read.

Steve feels his nerves thrumming, trying to keep his anxiousness from his own features, waiting for her to respond.

Finally, she straightens, her jaw tight.

“Alright.” She says. “Alright. For the time being, I’ll assume this whole little kid thing is legit. But Steve, you know I’m going to have to bring him in eventually. Fury knows, and he isn’t going to drop it.”

“And what if the team offers to look after him?” Steve counters. “Think about it. What happens when Thor comes back? Something tells me he wouldn’t be very happy to find out SHIELD put his little brother into a holding cell. His little brother who’s actually a child and scared out of his mind.”

Natasha smirks at him then, shaking her head.

“You know Rogers,” she says. “you’re not half bad at mind games yourself. Look, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll pitch it to Fury and see what he says. In the meantime, I need you to keep Loki in your sight and don’t let him out of this apartment unless you’re with him. Got it?”

Steve nods, trying to keep a lid on the relief which washes like a wave over him.

“Thanks Natasha.” He says.

“Save it soldier.” She tells him. “You and the kid aren’t out of the wood yet.”

//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Things are finally starting to progress forward a little. And as always, thank you so much to all my reader and/or reviewers! You keep me motivated to go on writing these things!


	6. Chapter 6

Loki is scared.

Well, no, nix that, Steve thinks. Loki is pretty well terrified, clinging to the pant of his leg, small hands white knuckled as he grips the material and keeps his face pressed against it as they ascend upward in the elevator, taking them quickly towards the penthouse suit of Avengers Tower.

It’s too soon for this, the captain worries. Too soon to be putting the kid through this kind of stress. 

But he really doesn’t have much of a choice, and he knows it. Not with Fury and SHIELD breathing down his neck. Coming down between the two, letting SHIELD get their hands on this kid, or revealing the situation to his teammates and hoping for the best, he’s going to go with the latter every time.

Loki, though, wasn’t too happy with the plan, and it had nearly broken his heart in two, having to listen to the boy cry as he begged the captain, pleading that he just wanted to stay with Steve until he could find Thor and get back home. 

Steve had had to explain to him the situation as best as he could without revealing the details of why it was SHIELD would consider Loki a hostile or at all dangerous. At the best of times, Steve was a terrible liar, and he knew that Loki saw through his BS. Saw that he was hiding something. Steve thinks now that’s the reason for the kid’s worry and fear. He knows he’s being lied to, and he thinks something awful is going to happen.

It had culminated last night when, a few hours after getting Loki to bed finally, Steve had heard his own bedroom door creak open, and seen the boy shuffle in, blanket clutched to his chest and, even in the dim light, cheeks obviously wet with tears. 

He’d muttered almost inaudibly to the captain that he was having nightmares and he couldn’t sleep, and then asked timidly if he could be allowed to sleep with Steve. Steve had told him of course, feeling awful already for everything, and Loki had crawled in with a little help being lifted from the floor, proceeding then to press himself against the captain’s side, burying his face against his chest.

The boy had fallen asleep fairly quickly after that, but his continuous, soft mummers and cries through the night, and his restless movement, told Steve clear enough Loki still suffered from night terrors.

As did the child’s drowsy eyed sleepiness earlier this morning. Steve had had a hell of a time getting Loki to actually wake up.

Now the captain finds himself with his arm around Loki’s trembling shoulders, shushing him quietly and telling him with repeated assurance that it’s going to be okay.

And it will be. He has to believe that. None on his team, he thinks, would be so heartless as to turn away a child in need.

Quicker than he realizes it, they’ve reached the towers upper floors, where Steve knows the rest of the team will be waiting. Earlier, he’d put the call in to them to convene, pending an urgent matter he needed to discuss with them.

They hadn’t questioned him on it, each in turn telling him no problem. But as the elevator doors slide open, and he has to gently usher Loki out into the waiting corridor, Steve feels his own sense of nervousness and uncertainty. 

If they react negatively or, somehow, reject the idea of looking after Loki, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

He tries to push those thoughts and fears down though, as he guides the boy in the right direction. Loki’s such a smart, and obviously very sensitive kid. If Steve is feeling worried, the boy will no doubt pick up on it right away, and in turn only worsen his own fear.

At the very threshold of the living area, where already Steve can hear his teammates talking, Loki finally halts, digging his heels in and pulling with surprising strength back on Steve’s shirt sleeve.

“S-Steve Rogerson, wait, please…” 

Steve glances down at the boy, seeing him staring back up at him with wide, nakedly frightened eyes, too large in his pale, thin face.

“It’s okay Loki.” Steve tries to smile encouragingly. “Remember, I told you, these guys are my friends. They won’t hurt you.”

“As… a-as the lady with hair like fire is your friend?” Loki asks, voice reedy and soft. “D-did she not intend to take me from you?”

Steve feels his lips thin as his jaw tightened. 

Lying to Loki outright was stupid and pointless, and so he wasn’t even going to try. Bending the truth, though, while still something he hated doing, was, in this case, unfortunately necessary.

“She did, that’s true.” He admits. “But it’s only because she thought you were someone you aren’t. And when she realized that, she also realized her mistake. She doesn’t want to hurt you either Loki.”

Loki’s look is disbelieving at best, almost betrayed looking at worst. 

“… I’m scared.” He finally admits, his voice hardly a whisper, eyes flickering away to stare at the floor.

Steve feels his heart sink, and instinctively, he gives Loki’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

“I know you are little buddy.” He says. “But you have my word, alright? No one’s going to hurt you, or take you away from me. But right now, it’s the safest thing for you to stay here with my friends. And I’ll be here too. I’m not going anywhere.”

Loki nods, eyes still fixed away from the captain, saying nothing.

Steve sighs, taking his arm from around the boy’s shoulders and offering his hand for Loki to grab hold, which Loki, after a moment’s hesitation, does.

The captain finds himself hesitating briefly himself before taking a deep breath, and finally stepping forward, through the automatic, sliding glass doors and into the living space.

As he does, all conversation immediately comes to a halt, leaving the room in a weighted silence.

Behind him, he feels Loki’s free hand once more bury in the material of his pants, his hand in Steve’s own squeezing noticeably tighter and his face pressing into the captain’s hip.

The eyes of his teammates and friends fall upon him, and, moments later, almost as one, he sees them slide to the child at his side, hidden slightly behind his frame.

Predictably, of course, it’s Tony who breaks the silence.

“Hey Spangles!” He starts up, voice, as always, hyper and almost cutting. “Whatcha’ got there? Looks suspiciously like a kid to me. And, I don’t know if you know, and I know this is technically a shared living space and all, but… well, I still pay all the bills, and rule number one. No kids. For… obvious reasons. Kids are just… yuck.”

Steve finds himself frowning automatically, his own mouth coming open to respond.

Before he can, Bruce interjects.

“Tony, stop being a dick.” He says.

Tony looks to him, feigning shock and hurt, pressing his palm to his chest.

“Me? A dick? Surely you jest, good doctor!” He grins wide, waggling his eyebrows.

Natasha, Steve notices, isn’t here. 

Right. Of course. She’d leave it to him to explain the whole thing.

Clint, however, is, and he’s staring at Loki with something much too close to recognition. 

Immediately the captain’s nerves return, and he forces himself to straighten, pushing the apprehension down.

“Come on kiddo.” He says softly, so that only Loki can hear, giving his hand a gentle tug to urge him forward.

He feels Loki resist for only a moment, before following haltingly behind, face still buried against his hip.

“Hey guys.” Steve starts, trying to keep his voice level and clear. “I’m glad you all could make it.”

“For you America the Beautiful? Anything.” Tony says, and Steve has to force himself not to roll his eyes.

“What’s this about Steve?” Bruce says, voice serious to contrast with Tony’s perpetually light tone.

Clint hasn’t said anything yet, which is unusual, Steve knows. Normally, he’s as wise cracking as Tony himself.

Steeling himself, Steve takes a deep breath, letting go of Loki’s hand and again putting his arms around the boys shoulder.

“Guys, I… I want you to meet somebody.” He starts, hoping his sounds more confident than he currently feels. “He’s… I hope he’ll be staying with us for a while, and…”

His voice trails off as he sees the mix of perplexed and disbelieving faces before him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa Cap, did you not just… hear what I said?” Tony starts after a moment, standing up from his seat. “I specifically said no kids. As in… no kids. That’s a policy. I think I even have it written down in the renters… tenants… contract, whatever.”

“Who is he?” Clint finally speaks, his eyes moving to Steve, sharp and almost hostile.

“He’s…” Steve starts, then stops, minding stalling up as he struggles to find the words to explain.

“S-Steve Rogerson…” Loki breaths, staring up at him with worried, pleading eyes.

Whatever plans Steve had had to ease his friends into the situation go immediately out the window.

“Wait, did he just say…” Tony starts, only to be cut off by Clint.

“Rogers son?!” He snaps, voice worryingly alarmed.

“Listen, guys…” Steve starts, pushing Loki farther behind him as he does.

“Isn’t that, like, an Asgardian thing? That’s how Thor always refers to all of us. Son this and daughter that, whatever.” Tony talks over him.

“Th-Thor?” Loki pipes up behind him, suddenly inching closer to the captain’s side. “Y-you know my brother?”

There’s so much awful hope in the kid’s voice, that for a moment, Steve forgets to be horrified that Loki’s pretty much completely blown any chance he might have had to make the situation go smoothly. He finds himself desperately wanting to reassure the boy again. To comfort him.

Only moments later he’s again jerked back to reality.

“Your brother?!” Clint barks, and at once the archer is up off the couch, glaring at Loki with utter, terrifying contempt.

Bruce is standing seconds following, looking strained and concerned as his gaze moves between Steve and the boy.

“What’s going on Steve?” He asks. “Who is that boy?”

Again, Loki robs him of the chance to explain.

He steps forward, completely out from behind Steve’s protection, holding his head high and announcing in an only slightly trembling voice…

“I am L-Loki of Asgard.” He says. “S-second son and prince of O-Odin All-Father and Queen Mother F-Frigga, b-brother of Thor, god of ss-storms and thunder.”

For another, agonizingly long moment, a heavy weight falls on the room, everyone staring, stunned and horrified at the little boy at Steve’s side.

Again, it’s Tony who speaks first.

“What the actual fuck.” He says, eyes fixed on Loki. “No, like, what the fuck Cap?” He turns his gaze towards Steve. 

Loki’s arms come up, wrapping round himself. He doesn’t move from his spot, still looking at the Avengers expectantly.

“Please,” he says quietly. “I… i-if you know where Thor is, I… I would like v-very much to see him. I… I want to go home.”

“Guys, listen to me…” Steve starts again, holding his hands up and stepping forward, but again, Clint cuts him off.

“So it’s true.” He says, and abruptly, he’s stepping forward, stance almost threatening. “Tash said something about you being spotted with some kid. Said Fury was all in a tizzy over it. Wouldn’t tell me why though. Said she had to confirm it first.”

“Clint, look, just…” Steve says.

In a flash, the archer’s cross the space between them, and before the captain can even, truly react, he’s got Loki by the arm, tugging him roughly forward.

Loki cries out in fear and alarm, and for a moment, Steve can only stare, gape mouthed and horrified. 

Clint’s his friend and comrade. And though he knows the archer’s still suffering immensely from what was done to him, he didn’t for a moment think he would me so upset as to perpetrate violence against a child.

But then, Steve had thought he’d have a chance to explain.

Clint’s grip is crushingly hard along Loki’s birdlike wrist, Steve can see that, and quick as a snake, his other hand shoots up, fingers burying in the boy’s hair, pulling harshly.

Again, Loki cries out, voice pitched high is absolute terror now, eyes shutting against the pain.

“I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing, you piece of shit! What you did to Cap to make him think you’re harmless…” Clint spits inches from the child’s face. “But you ain’t foolin’ anyone.”

“Clint, let him go!” Steve finally snaps out of his shock, stepping forward and reaching out.

Clint’s eyes flick to him only briefly, flashing with rage, before snapping back to Loki.

“Like hell Cap. I’m takin’ him to SHIELD. Fury’ll take care of his ass.”

Loki’s chest is rising and falling in rapid, panicked breathes now, face stricken in naked fear, tugging vainly on Clint’s grip, trying to break free.

“Clint, let him GO!” Steve shouts, panicking himself, and without thinking, he grabs hold of the archer’s arm, gripping hard.

“Fuck, Cap, that hurts!” Clint growls, but he doesn’t relent his own hold of Loki.

“You’re hurting him!” Steve spits back, nodding towards Loki.

“So fucking what!?” Clint shouts in return.

“Guys…” Someone behind them Bruce starts, sounding worried.

“So he’s just a child!” Steve yells. “Let him go!”

“You’re fucking joking, right?” Clint says, sounding incredulous. “Steve, he’s not really a kid. You aren’t this stupid!”

Steve grits his teeth, his fingers digging harder into Clint’s skin.

“Let him go now Clint, before I make you.” He says, voice hard and flat.

“You’re fucking insane…” Clint starts, and Steve glances at Loki, seeing his eyes bright, tears coursing fast and relentless down his face.

“Clint…” He starts, and then all at once, Loki yanks his wrist free, the pull hard enough to drag Clint forward and knock him off balance, the archer crashing hard to his knees.

Loki’s eyes are wide as saucers, and he stumbles back himself, chest heaving. His gaze darts back and forth between Clint and Steve, and then to the others, frenzied and terrified.

“Loki…” Steve begins, taking a cautious step towards the boy, hands held up and out.

And then his vision is blinded as a bright flash of green and white light fills his eyes, forcing him to turn his face away, his arm coming up instinctively to shield himself.

“Mother fucker!” Clint shouts.

Steve blinks rapidly, trying to clear his sight.

There’s a smell like ozone and pine filling the air, and when he at last regains his vision and looks, Loki is gone completely.


	7. Chapter 7

He stumbles out from the spaces in between, gasping sharply as a wave of dizziness spins his head, and he doesn’t even realize he’s falling until his knees hit the ground, hard, and he has to catch himself on his hands.

He feels sick, like he may expel, and he can’t stop shaking. Fear is like a led weight in the pit of his stomach, his eyes stinging sharply, vision blinded by the tears which refuse to stop welling.

It’s weak. He knows it’s weak, and he’s acting truly pathetic and cowardly. Shame burns at his face, thinking about how disappointed Father would be, and Mother too, though she wouldn’t say it, and… and Thor. 

He knows he should have stood his ground. Knows he should have shown courage and not run away like he had. Like he had with those older boys who’d chased him… it was only… only he was so scared and he didn’t think and…

He shakes his head, trying to compose himself, wiping the back of his hand against his eyes.

The floor beneath him is strangely smooth, almost like steel, and he realizes suddenly he doesn’t know where he is. Where he’s teleported to.

Mother keeps warning him about that. About teleporting without knowing precisely his path. It’s easy to get lost, she’s said. Easy to end up in dangerous places. She’s told Loki repeatedly too that he isn’t yet strong enough to attempt teleporting more than very short distances, although she says he’s very advanced for his age. 

He understands now what she means though, as another wave of dizziness hits him hard, the room spinning in nauseating circles, his vision, for a moment, blacking out.

He can feel himself falling forward, a choked cry slipping past his lips as his forehead hits the hard ground.

For a moment then, all Loki can do is lye there, as wave after wave of dizziness continues to overwhelm him, and he can’t help it, he begins to weep in earnest, pitiful whimpering noises squeezing up from his throat as he tries fruitlessly to stifle his sobs.

He curls in on himself, knees to his chest and arms about them, clamping his lids tight and burying his face to the cold, strange floor.

He doesn’t know where he is, the air feels cool and, somehow, artificial. 

Steve Rogerson lied. He lied about his friends. He said they wouldn’t hurt him and… and they did. That one man had squeezed his wrist so tight. It… it hadn’t really hurt all that much, really. But Loki knew what it felt like when someone grabbed you with the intent to harm and… and that man had wanted to hurt him, he’s certain of it. 

Why had Steve Rogerson lied? He had seemed such an honorable, kind man. 

Maybe he hadn’t? Maybe he’d truly believed his friends would like and accept Loki, as he had. And as always, just as with Thor’s friends, it was Loki himself who’d caused their anger and hatred. Thor’s friends were all really mean to him too. And they always hurt him when Thor wasn’t looking. He knew Thor didn’t know it. That he also believed his friends were Loki’s. Mayhap that was Steve Rogerson’s belief too. Or had been, before that man had attacked him.

He hopes so. He likes Steve Rogerson very much. He reminds him of Thor, in some ways.

Thor… he… he wishes Thor were here. Oh, he wants to go home so badly. He misses his brother and Mother and Father. He’s so confused. He doesn’t know how he came to be here, why this is happening. And if Steve Rogerson’s friends find him, they’ll… they’ll… 

He doesn’t know what they’ll do. They’ll beat him up for sure. They’ll hit him a lot. Maybe even kill him.

Oh, he doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t. If he dies now, like this, he’ll never get to go to Valhalla. He’ll never see his family again. 

Oh, he wants Thor. Why can’t Thor come?

A muffled sob wracks his frame again, and he curls tighter in on himself.

“Please Thor…” he whispers quietly to himself. “I need you.”

Only Thor doesn’t come.

Instead, Loki feels, suddenly, an oppressive, nauseating weight in the air about him, a high-pitched thrum filling his ears, making his head throb in overwhelming pain.

He gasps loudly, arms uncurling and hands coming to his head, gripping the sides helplessly. His eyes snap open, vision swimming, and at once it’s like he can’t even breathe, chest restricting and it’s wrong, all wrong! Like some impossible weight settling over his insides, holding him down.

Tears stream freely and ceaselessly from his eyes, and another, strangled sob escapes him.

What’s happening?! What’s wrong with him!? 

Panic overtakes him, and without thinking, he tries again to teleport away from there, to anywhere. Any place else.

Only his magic won’t respond to him now. He can feel it’s spark light for less than an instant before shriveling up and lying down, dormant, inside of him. 

Panic turns to outright terror, his eyes widening, and frantically, he scrambles to his hands and knees, gasping again for breath as he crawls blindly forward.

His magic has never failed to respond to his call! It’s never… never abandoned him…

He continues to scramble forward, towards some clunky, ugly looking table, forcing himself to keep going until he’s situated beneath it, where he again curls in on himself, knees to chest, arms wrapped uselessly about himself. He buries his face against his knees and cries, consumed by fear and confusion.

He wants to go home. Oh, gods, how does he get out of this place? Where is his family? Father would never let him travel to Midgard alone. Or… or any realm. 

“Mama…” He whimpers, but he already knows she can’t hear him.

//

“Oh, well that’s just great!” Clint throws his hands up in the air. “The bastard could be anywhere now!”

“Well if you hadn’t lost it like that, then he wouldn’t have gotten scared and felt the need to run away!” Steve snaps in return, angry and disgusted and afraid.

“Oh, man, come on!” Clint spits. “You’re gonna blame me? You’re the one who brought that lunatic in here like Little Orphan Annie! I can’t believe you’d be so stupid Cap. He probably planned on the whole thing and is God knows where, wreaking havoc somewhere in the tower!”

“Now wait just a minute…” Steve starts, finger pointed at the archer accusingly.

“Guys…” Tony starts, but the two men don’t seem to hear him, continuing to argue back and forth, the volume of their voices steadily rising with each word.

“GUYS!” Tony finally yells over them and they stop, turning towards him with bemused expressions.

“What?” Clint asks, agitated.

“JARVIS says he’s in the lab.” Tony replies, flippant and easygoing as ever.

“In the lab?!” Clint shouts. “Near the suits?!”

“Yup.” Tony nods. “But don’t worry, I’ve initiated protocol six. He shouldn’t be any trouble. Well, unless he decides to go all grown-up on us again and starts dismantling things with his hands. But still, he won’t be able to steal anything or…”

“Protocol six?” Steve starts, alarm gripping his insides.

“Yeah. You know. It’s something I started working on right away after our first encounter with the Brother Grim. Magic suppressor technology. Granted, it’s in its early stages, but I was able to get a read on the energy signature of Loki and calibrate it specifically to him, if he should ever come poking around again. Just a precaution, and I haven’t figured out how to make it into a portable device. But it should do the trick for now.”

Steve barely keeps himself from bursting into a sprint and heading then and there for the lab. He sucks in a deep breath, jaw clenching tight before he forces himself to breathe.

“Will it hurt him?” He asks, trying to keep himself composed, feeling himself fail as panic begins to edge up on him.

“Uhh… it shouldn’t?” Tony answers, sounding anything but sure. “I haven’t exactly tested it on anyone yet though, so…”

That’s all Steve needs to hear before he’s off, running for the stairwell, having no patience or time for the elevator. 

“Hey, CAP!” He hears Tony shout behind him, but he doesn’t stop.

This is all his fault. Christ, why had he thought this would be a good idea?! And Loki had already been so afraid. Had wanted so badly not to come here, and Steve had promised him it would be safe. Had given his word nothing bad would happen…

He shoves the thoughts from his mind, barreling through the door at the end of the stairwell, leading to a hallway. From there, it’s just a short distance to Tony’s main lab, and Steve sprints the entire distance, skidding to a halt just outside the glass doors and frantically punching the key code in.

A loud beep sounds, and then the hissing of the air compressed lock as Steve pulls the door wide, bursting through and into the lab.

His eyes scan almost frantically over the space, searching, seeing at first nothing.

“Loki!” He calls, his heart thudding painfully against his ribcage, fear blooming like something sick in the pit of his stomach, working up into his throat.

“Lo…” he starts again, and then freezes, hearing a muffled sob, the clear sound of a child weeping.

He listens harder, and it doesn’t take him long to locate where the sound is coming from, maneuvering around the various work tables and equipment littered about the space, until he comes to one nearer to the back.

It’s coming from underneath, and slowly, Steve lowers himself down onto his knees, peering beneath the table, and there he finds Loki, curled in upon himself, face pressed to his knees and crying, trembling visibly.

The first thing the captain feels is relief, exhaling loudly and head drooping forward.

He’d been so scared that… that… he doesn’t even know. He’d just been terrified.

Only his relief is short lived as he looks more carefully at the boy, and realizes the depth of his distress.

“Loki,” he starts softly, reaching out a cautious hand, laying the tips of his fingers along the kid’s shoulder.

Loki flinches violently at the contact, so hard he smacks the back of his head against the desks metal backing, the impact thudding loudly. Steve cringes, his teeth clacking together as he falls forward, his other hand reaching out and resting atop Loki’s crown.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he starts. “it’s alright. It’s okay. Calm down little man. It’s just me.”

Loki stares back at him, eyes wide and red with tears, face wet and lined in what seems pain, cheeks flushed red.

It’s then that Steve realizes the kid’s thrown up, the remnants of that morning’s breakfast smeared across the front of Loki’s t-shirt and splattered across his pants.

“Oh, you poor kid.” The captain breathes, scooting closer. “Come here. Let’s get you out of here.”

“It h-hurts.” Loki stammers suddenly, face crumpling as fresh tears well in his eyes and slip down his cheeks.

Steve frowns, heart sinking.

“What hurts?” He asks, apprehension building.

“T-t-the air. It hh-hurts. I cc-can’t reach my magic.” Loki sobs, and at once, he’s thrown himself forward, skinny arms wrapping around Steve’s neck, burying his face to the captain’s chest, crying raggedly. “I want m-my Mama. I want to go h-home.” He weeps desperately, and Steve can feel his own eyes sting.

“JARVIS,” he calls. “turn off whatever it is that’s suppressing his power.”

“I am sorry, Captain Rogers. Only Sir and Miss Pott’s has the necessary clearance to disable protocol six.”

“He’s in pain!” Steve nearly shouts, anger and frustration and fear mixing together in a rage. “Turn it off!”

“I am sorry, Captain Rogers.” The AI begins to repeat.

Steve doesn’t bother listening to the rest, standing abruptly, taking Loki up with him. 

“Come on Loki,” he says, supporting the boy underneath with his arm. Loki’s legs wrap automatically about the captain’s waist, face pressing into his shoulder. He’s shaking almost violently, still crying.

They’ve only made it halfway across the lab before he feels the child shudder viciously, and a moment later, he’s throwing up again, though it isn’t much, a clear liquid bile soiling further Steve’s shirt. It doesn’t matter. His clothes were already mussed up from holding Loki against him.

All the matters is getting the kid out of here.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about that. It’s alright.” Steve shushes him, rubbing a hand up and down Loki’s back as he continues towards the labs exit, Loki crying harder again. Probably from embarrassment, Steve thinks. “We’ll get you out of here and get you cleaned up.”

By the time they reach the main floor of shared apartments open to members of the team, Loki has calmed some, though he still clings to Steve with desperation. He’s terrified, and the captain can’t even question why. He knows why. Knows it’s his own fault.

“We’re almost there little buddy.” He says reassuringly against Loki’s ear.

They’ve nearly made it when Steve hears the lifts open behind him, and a moment later, Tony’s voice calling out to him.

“Uh, hey, Cap!”

Steve freezes, and he feels Loki tense in his arms. Almost immediately, the boy’s breathing becomes shallow and too rapid, and once more, he begins crying.

Steve tries shushing him gently, holding him tighter against him and murmuring reassurances into his ear.

He can hear Tony coming up behind them, another two pairs of footsteps to accompany, and for a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to compose himself.

The last thing Loki needs is a shouting match between him and his teammates. 

Finally, he turns, keeping Loki’s face pressed against his shoulder.

Tony, Clint and Bruce are standing there, staring back at him with what would at any other time be comical expressions of bewilderment, if the situation itself weren’t so precarious and strained. 

“What the heezy flag boy?” Tony starts. “What’s going on?”

“Yeah Steve, what the fuck?!” Clint snaps behind him.

At the sound of the archer’s voice, Steve feels Loki begin to shake all the more violently, a strangled sob escaping his lips. The captain grits his teeth, anger flaring in his chest.

“You’re going to need to step back.” He says, voice firm and unyielding. “All of you.”

That seems to bring them up short, Tony’s eyes going wide and Clint scowling. Bruce, as ever, remains calm, though his expression is more strained than normal.

“Whoa, Cap, what’s all this abou…” Tony starts to ask, but Steve cuts him off sharply.

“Why don’t the two of you actually look and see for a minute.” He says. “Look at Loki.”

It takes several, long seconds before either Tony or Clint slide their gaze from him to the boy in his arms.

“Don’t you two bozos see how scared he is?” Steve goes on heatedly. “The both of you have managed in the space of less than half an hour to really hurt him. He’s just a kid, for crying out loud.”

“He’s not just a kid!” Clint snaps then, stepping forward. “He’s…”

“Clint, be quiet.” Steve cuts him off. He’s had it now. “I’m the head of this team. That means I’m in charge. That means you all take orders from me. And right now, my orders are for you and Tony to back the hell up. Fury already knows by now about what’s going on, and so we’ll discuss this later. At the moment, I’ve got a child here who needs cleaning up and looking after. Whatever that thing is you built Tony, it made him sick and physically hurt him.”

Tony scoffs, looking incredulous.

“I don’t see how that could be.” He begins to defend. “All it does is send out high-frequency electrical waves designed to counteract his energy signitu…”

“It hurt him Tony. He was crying when I found him, threw up twice.” Steve, again, interrupts, having none of it. He switches his gaze to Bruce then.

“Bruce, I want you with me. Loki needs to be given a physical exam, to make sure nothing more is wrong.”

For a moment, the doctor looks startled, eyes going wide.

“Uhh…” he starts.

Steve doesn’t give him a chance to say yes or no, simply turning on his heel and heading back towards his rooms, Loki still held in his arms.

He hears Tony and Clint sputtering indignantly at his back, but he ignores them, keeping on his course, feeling a vague wave of relief when he hears Bruce’s footsteps following slowly behind a few moments later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always you guys, thank you so much to everyone who’s read and/or reviewed! You mean the world to me, and I hope you continue to enjoy. Thor’s going to be showing up soon, probably within the next two chapters!


	8. Chapter 8

Bruce stands with several feet of distance between him and the boy, watching nervously, and all he can think is how much he wishes Steve hadn't left him alone here.

It's a ridiculous thing, he thinks.

If anything, the boy, Loki, and Bruce has to keep reminding himself of who this is, appears to be completely terrified of him. And really, he should be. Bruce would be too, if he were in the child's position.

But Bruce just doesn't know what to do. It's awkward. Incredibly so. And even though he keeps telling himself this is Loki, this is the alien/god whatever that tried to take over their planet just a few, short months ago, looking at him now, Bruce can't help but feel bad for him.

He's curled up on the top of the bathroom's toilet, knees hugged to his chest and face buried against them. Even from where he's standing, Bruce can see he's shaking.

It had been more than a little difficult for Steve to convince the boy to let him go for even a minute. Even more so when the captain had explained that he needed to step out for a moment to get Loki some new clothes, since he'd thrown up all over his current pair.

The boy had burst into a fresh wave of tears, again latching himself to Steve and begging him to stay, to not leave him alone with Bruce.

Bruce understood the sentiment.

It must have taken Steve nearly ten minutes of solid reassurances and promises that he would be right back before at last Loki had relented and let him go.

Steve had spoken softly to Bruce on his way out of the room that he would like for him, in the meantime, to look the boy over, give him a cursory examination and make sure he was okay.

Bruce had started to protest, but the captain hadn't given him any real chance, whisking out of the room and disappearing seconds later.

Which of course has left Bruce in his current situation.

He's honestly afraid to get near the boy. Not because he thinks Loki can hurt him. He's almost positive he can't. But because the child is so obviously, horribly distressed, and though Bruce has worked with plenty of sick and injured children, this feels decidedly different.

Maybe because Loki isn't human at all. Maybe because he's worried this is all some elaborate scheme on the god's part.

Mostly, Bruce thinks, it's because he's afraid of himself, and what should happen, if the other guy suddenly recognizes who this kid is and decides to make an appearance.

How's he even supposed to touch the kid, when every time he even shifts, he sees Loki flinch violently where he sits?

And there it happens again, Loki's back hitting the toilet tank as Bruce folds his arms, and the doctor can't help the soft sigh which slips past his lips.

"Try talking to him." Steve had said just before he'd stepped out.

Talking to him about what, exactly? Bruce wanted to know.

He has no idea where to even start.

And so he starts by clearing his throat, gaining another, petrified reaction from the boy.

"So, uh… Loki?" He says.

Brilliant Bruce, he thinks, rolling his eyes at himself as he fails to garner a response. Obviously Loki. What kind of lead in was that?

"I'm, uh, I'm supposed to take a look at you." He starts again, voice anything but certain. "I mean, to make sure you're alright and everything. I… I don't know if Steve explained to you, but I'm a… a doctor, sort of. A uh…"

What the hell was it that Thor called doctors up in Asgard?

He racks his brain but for the life of him can't remember, and then his thoughts come to a grinding halt as he looks over at Loki and seeing the boy staring back at him with startlingly green eyes, far too perceptive to belong to a child so young.

Loki's face is gaunt, too thin and pale as a sheet, making the contrast of his jet black hair and vibrant irises all the more shocking in appearance.

And then Bruce feels his own stomach drop out from under him as the boy speaks.

"You are very angry." He says, voice hardly more than a whisper, youthful and innocent sounding, though his tone suggests anything but. This kid sees things, if he's a kid at all.

"I'm sorry, what?" Bruce stammers stupidly after a moment, brain trying to catch up.

Loki's expression seems pained, almost sad.

"I can sense such in you." Loki goes on, as though this conversation constitutes anything within the realm of normal. "Your… y-your rage feeds your strength."

If he'd felt uneasy before, Bruce thinks he must feel a thousand times more uncomfortable now.

"Listen, kid…" he starts.

"Are you going to kill me?" Loki asks suddenly, and again, Bruce's thoughts break wide apart.

He gapes a long moment, mouth hung open and eyes wide.

Loki is staring back at him with such a serious, somber expression, and underneath that almost calm, composed face, Bruce thinks, he can see very real terror in the boys eyes, large and vibrating and bright.

"Excuse me? W-what?" Bruce stutters, confused and dismayed in equal measure.

"Yy-you think you're going to hurt me, don't you? You're af-fraid of hurting me?"

For a moment, Bruce doesn't know what to say. Doesn't understand how this boy could possibly realize that, could possibly know unless…

"Loki, do you remember me?" He asks.

He's met only with painful, frightened confusion in the child's eyes, and Loki shakes his head, eyes shining brighter, awash with tears.

"Nay." He answers. "I d-do not. But so many of you seem to think I sh-should, and I understand not w-why."

"Okay, okay, look," Bruce holds up his hands when he sees Loki's breathing start to quicken, the tears pooling and slipping down his cheeks. "first of all, I'm not going to kill you. I'm not going to hurt you in any way." He takes a deep breath, trying to work himself up to saying this. "And you're right. I do have a kind of… anger in me, which manifests itself into a… a creature who's incredibly strong. He only comes out though when I'm really upset or stressed out or…"

He's screwing this up, and he can see that clearly through the way Loki's face abruptly crumples in fear, tears falling faster.

"And you're angry with m-me?" He cries in earnest now.

"No, no, no, listen, Loki, listen." Bruce tries again, more urgently. "I'm not angry with you. Alright? I'm just a little, uh… uh, c-confused is all. You, uh, we all thought you were someone you're not and, ah, oh jeeze, I'm screwing this up, aren't I?"

If he was expecting an answer to that, he doesn't get one, Loki only continuing to look at him with the same, lost and fearful expression.

"Loki," Bruce starts again, keeping his voice low and measured, the same voice he uses whenever he's lent his aid to children in need in the past. "I promise you, I'm not going to hurt you, or do anything bad to you. Alright? I just, I need to look at you to make sure you're not hurt from… from what happened to you in Tony's lab."

Still, he receives no reply, the boy not taking his eyes from him.

"Is that alright? Can… can I look at you?" Bruce asks again.

Loki inhales a shuddering breath then, swallowing visibly.

He nods jerkily, stiffly, but his eyes speak plainly of wary distrust, even as Bruce nods back, trying to smile reassuringly as he makes his way over, pulling a pen light from his pocket and turning it on.

"I'm just gonna check your eyes." He tells the child. "With this thing." He holds up the light for Loki to see. "It's just a light source. It won't do anything to hurt you."

"Is… is it magic?" Loki asks, voice shaking slightly. "S-Steve Rogerson t-told me there is no magic in this R-Realm."

"Uhh, well…" Bruce scratches the back of his head, unsure exactly how to answer that. "it's not really magic. It runs on something called a battery. Uhh, electricity. There's a, um, certain kind of chemical reaction in batteries which results in the buildup of something called electrons.

Electrons naturally, uh, r-repel each other, so… so they look for somewhere to go. But in a battery, the core, something called an electrolyte, keeps them from jumping from… from one end of the batter to the other in a straight line, so they're, they're, uh, forced to go around through a kind of, uh, conducive wire connecting to the two ends of the battery, and, that energy, whatever it's running through, powers the thing. Uh, I guess… I guess you probably don't know what I'm really talking about."

Loki's eyes are fixed intently on him now, some of the fear seeming to have seeped out of them, replaced by blatant curiosity.

"I understand." He says, sounding marginally more confident. "It's a transference of e-energy by f-forcing an overabundance of it into a single space, and the excess powers the little machine. That's simple. "

"Uh, y-yeah. Actually." Bruce smiles, impressed despite himself. "That's right."

"It's very primitive." Loki tells him sagely, though there's no malice in his voice, just a statement of fact.

Bruce can't help but laugh.

"Yeah, I guess to someone like you, it would seem that way."

Loki only continues staring back at him, face serious.

"Sooo, can I…?" Bruce holds the pen up once more, and the nervousness returns to the boy's eyes, even as he nods weakly.

"Okay." Bruce says, turning the pen light on and bending down so that he's eye level with the boy. "Just, I want you to follow the light with your eyes, alright? Don't move your head, just your eyes to follow the motion. Alright?"

Loki nods, seeming to understand, and Bruce proceeds to move the light from left to right in front of him, then up and down. Loki's eyes follow the movement easily.

Bruce smiles.

"Good." He says. "That's good. Now, I just want to check to see if you have a temperature. So I'm going to place my palm against your forehead. Alright?"

Again, Loki nods, though Bruce doesn't miss the way his small frame winds slightly tighter.

He's careful then as he reaches his hand out, placing it gently against the child's forehead. Loki starts at the contact, but then seems to relax.

It's Bruce who finds himself frowning and vaguely concerned at how cool the boy's skin is. Much cooler than would be normal or healthy in a regular human being.

He has to remind himself that Loki isn't a human being. Not at all.

"How are you feeling Loki?" He asks, looking up at him.

"Passing well." Loki answers softly, his eyes averting suddenly. "I find myself still somewhat nauseated but… but it isn't as bad as it… it was."

He seems embarrassed, and again, Bruce finds himself feeling bad for the kid. He really shouldn't, he thinks. This could still be some sort of elaborate trick. But… he can't really help it either.

"Well, that's alright." He says, trying to sound reassuring. "You feel a little cool. Is that normal for you Loki?"

Bruce doesn't expect the kid's face to crumple at the question, but it does.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" He asks, feeling his own heart kick up in sudden worry.

Loki doesn't answer him, his arms instead squeezing tighter about his knees, turning his face away as though trying to hide.

"Loki, hey, what's the matter? Do you feel sick? Is it…"

Loki shakes his head, still not speaking.

"Then what is it?" Bruce presses, his concern mounting.

"Nothing." Loki mutters, his voice almost inaudible.

"Loki," Bruce says, and unthinkingly, he reaches out and takes hold of the boy's sticklike wrists, pulling his arms down and holding onto his hands. He starts rubbing soothing circles against Loki's palms with his thick thumbs. "tell me what's up." He goes on, looking Loki in the face when the boy turns to stare at him.

"Th-there's something wrong with me." He says, voice shaking.

"What do you mean?" Bruce pushes. "Does something hurt or…?"

Loki shakes his head.

"N-no, I…I get sick in the heat. The other children don't. They… they don't. I get dizzy and sometimes th-throw up. Lady Eir s-says it's 'cause I have a cooler body temperature than's… than's normal. There's something wrong with me."

"So this is a regular thing with you then?" Bruce asks, feeling some of his own tension drain.

Loki nods, eyes skirting away again.

"Alright. Well, look, that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. It just means you're a little different. That's not a bad thing."

"That's what Mama says." Loki whispers after a long moment, still looking away.

"Well there, see?" Bruce smiles. "You're alright."

Loki looks anything but convinced by that reassurance, his face still lined in what seems unnatural despair for someone so young.

Bruce opens his mouth, thinking to say something else to help, but he's cut short when he hears the door to the suite open beyond the bathroom, and a moment later, Steve reappears, holding a bundle of fresh clothing in his arms.

Loki immediately seems to light up at Steve's arrival, his face lifting, his expression so plainly relieved, it's almost painful to look at.

"Hey, I'm back!" Steve announces, smiling broadly at the boy and moving towards him. "How's everything going here?"

Bruce stands, stepping back just in time to be out of the way as Loki launches himself off the seat of the toilet and goes crashing into Steve, arms wrapping around the captain's legs and pressing his face to his knees.

"Woah," Steve laughs, taken slightly aback. He brings a hand to Loki's head, laying his palm gently against his crown. "I guess you missed me, huh?" He asks jokingly.

Loki only nods his head, not moving. Apparently then it's no joke at all to the boy.

Steve picks up on it quickly.

"Hey," he starts, bending down and wrapping his arm round the boys back, hooking it under the pits of his arms and lifting him easily. He rests Loki against his hips, looking down at him. "it's alright. I'm here now."

Loki responds simply by wrapping his arms about the captains waist and pressing his face to his side.

Steve studies him worriedly for a moment, before bringing his eyes up to Bruce.

"Did you take a look at him?" He asks quietly.

Bruce nods.

"A little. I don't have anything with me, so I wasn't able to do a proper exam. So far though, he looks like he's okay. I'll make sure to look at him more closely after you…" he waves a hand. "get him cleaned up and everything."

Steve nods, bringing his gaze back to the boy.

"Hey Loki, you ready to get out of those dirty clothes?" He asks.

It takes a moment, but finally Loki nods, face still buried against the captain.

"Alright then, let's move you over here." Steve says, hiking Loki up a bit higher and walking with him back towards the toilet. He lowers the kid carefully down, kneeling in front of him as he places the new set of clothes atop the adjoining vanity.

"Alright," he starts, taking hold the hem of the boy's t-shirt. "up." He orders softly, and Loki doesn't hesitate to lift his arms, letting Steve pull the soiled garment over his head, leaving him bare-chested.

The kid doesn't look like he's eaten at all for a long while now, Bruce thinks as he stares at Loki's scrawny form. His ribs are practically poking through the skin, and he's just so… small.

The level of trust the kid shows towards Steve, though, seems astonishing to Bruce. He lets the captain remove his pants and even his underwear without so much as a flinch, and within moments, Loki's sitting there, naked, atop the toilet seat.

Bruce has seen plenty of naked bodies, including naked children, but somehow he feels wrong footed and inappropriate, looking at Loki's bared form, and so he glances away, crossing his arms over his chest as Steve begins to wipe the child clean with a damp washcloth, drying him quickly thereafter before dressing him in the fresh set of clothes.

"There you go kiddo." Steve smiles at him afterwards, lifting Loki up off the toilet lid and setting him on his feet, back on the floor. "Better?"

Loki nods, staring up at him.

"Aye, m-much better." He says. "My thanks Steve Rogerson."

Steve laughs lightly, ruffling the boy's hair as he stands fully.

"Alright, now how about…" he starts.

The words never get a chance to form fully from his mouth though as there comes, suddenly, the sound of heavy footfalls, somehow audible from outside the room, in the hallway beyond.

Loki has suddenly gone completely still and stiff, staring wide eyed out into the room, his chest rising and falling in rapid motion.

"Loki?" Steve starts, concern thick in his voice.

But Loki doesn't even respond to him now, doesn't even look up at him.

"… Thor?" He breathes then, voice hushed.

"What?" Bruce asks, head snapping up and towards the room.

And then there comes a booming voice, calling out.

"Captain! Captain! I am in urgent need to speak with you!"

And there can be no mistaking that voice.

Steve and Bruce look to one another, expressions mirroring the other in abrupt, frenzied panic.

Thor…

It's Thor…


	9. Chapter 9

He'd searched for days now, cross near the entirety of this Realm.

It had taken days more simply to convince Heimdall to send him here via the BiFrost. To convince him that Odin had not, in exactitude of wording, given the decree that he was to be kept barred from traveling to Midgard. That the decree had only in truth specified he was not to travel to Midgard in search of his brother.

Heimdall knew the truth of Thor's intentions, of that the crown prince is certain. Thor had never been so gifted a liar as Loki, but still, lie he did, and at last, the Gatekeeper had relented, and allowed him through. Not without a parting warning, that should he seek Loki out, it would be he alone who bore the consequences of his actions. Heimdall would give him no support in that.

Thor had understood, giving a single, stiff nod.

He did not care.

Not any longer.

What his Father had done was…

Thor did not understand what his Father had done. Did not understand why.

And, he supposes now, it does not truly matter.

All that had mattered then was that he find Loki. That he help him.

Thor thinks he might have understood better, had Father simply exacted the same punishment on his brother that he had on Thor himself. Stripping him of his godhood and sending him, made mortal, to the middle realm.

But instead Father had stripped Loki, not of his power and immortality, but of his very life.

He'd whisked away with the power of the Odinforce Loki's very years. Centuries upon centuries, until Loki had been reduced to a child of no more than two hundred, perhaps less even. And not only in body, but in mind. Loki had lost his memories. Everything he had, from so young an age forward, lived and felt and knew. He'd lost it all. And then, while Loki still lay unconscious and unaware of his state, without allowing for the boy explanation or comfort or context, the All-Father had sent his brother hurtling back to Midgard. Alone and lost and a child. A brutally young child. A child with no real power, no real method to defend himself against anything.

Mother had been beside herself with dismay and fear, begging Odin to reconsider, to call their son back and, if he was to be confined to his youthful self, then to at least let it be among family and a world he knew. A world where he might be protected. Loki, she had argued, was then innocent. He knew nothing of what he had done. Nothing of why he was being punished. But Father had refused to hear her. To hear either of them.

And once the All-Father had determined his mind, Thor well knew, there was little chance of swaying him otherwise.

And so Thor had given up trying, and instead had now come here, to Midgard, in search of his younger brother.

It is only that this realm is so vast, and he hadn't the first idea where to even begin searching. How to find Loki at all.

He'd tried feeling for his presence, for the telltale swell of his brother's unique energy, but he'd felt nothing at all, no matter the places he went.

Not until he'd finally, in a last desperate effort, gone to the mortal's New city of York, hoping to enlist the aid of his mortal comrades, though he'd already known convincing them towards such a cause would be a difficult task indeed.

It had thus shocked him, when he'd passed into the limits of the sprawling, congested city, the deep layers of its sounds and smells and all its many forms of life assaulting his senses, he'd felt it. The unmistakable and most remarkable touch of Loki's magic, the taste and scent of it thick on Thor's tongue.

And so he'd followed it, like a beacon, and found himself not so shocked when it had led him here, to Tony Stark's rising tower.

It continued to astound him, the ingenuity and cleverness of these mortals. That they somehow would have found his brother first…

Though that admiration had faded quickly, when it had occurred to him once more that his friends knew Loki only as an enemy. Knew him only as the madman who had attacked their realm and tried so fervently and recklessly to subjugate them to his will and rule.

He doubted they would so easily and willingly forget his transgressions simply for the fact of his youthful state. They wouldn't understand. Would doubtless think it some trick, some scheme on Loki's part, to fool them and win to him their mercy.

And Loki… Loki would be so confused, so entirely lost. He wouldn't remember them. Wouldn't remember what had happened here. What he'd done.

Wouldn't understand their ire…

He'd dallied no more then in his thoughts, making haste towards the tower and landing upon the garish things roof, striding towards the flimsy, glass panes which served as an entryway to the uppermost floors, tapping gently as he could with the tips of his knuckles against it in an effort to gain some attention. Even still, he could feel the glass threaten to shatter under so little force, frowning at the fragility of… seemingly everything in this realm, wondering too then at the fragility of mortals.

It hadn't taken long for his presence to be noticed. Not long before he'd seen Tony Stark appear from one of their mechanical lifts called elevators, striding towards him with an appearance of both naked relief and, strangely, concern.

Thor liked it not, and stood straight and impatient, waiting to be let in.

He'd wanted to simply press against the flimsy little barrier and let himself through, but he'd remembered too how Tony Stark had squawked like a flustered bird when he'd, on a previous visit, broken these same pans, quite unintentionally.

Tony Stark had blustered and gone red in the face, exclaiming "these damn things are bullet proof! How is it you just, tap it with your little finger, and the whole fucking thing shatters!?"

Thor had had little notion of what it was the tiny man had even speaking of, and had simply decided to ignore him, which, in turn, had only caused Tony Stark to bluster more.

Thor found in himself no desire to see such a ridiculous display again, and so he'd with strained patience waited.

"Thor, Christ!" Tony Stark had exclaimed upon finally removing the barriers, and Thor had simply strode past him without waiting to be invited in. "Thank God you're here!"

"I know not of this Christ, and the gods deserve little enough thanks for my presence here." He'd turned to Tony, leveling him with a hard gaze. "Where is my brother?"

"Uhhh," Tony Stark had started, staring back at him.

"Do not feign ignorance." Thor had gone on, losing patience by the moment. "I know he is here. I do sense his magic. And if you or any of your kind have harmed him…"

Tony Stark had thrown up his hands in what Thor had assumed was a sign of peace, shaking his head.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, buddy, calm down a second now. No one's trying to, uh, feign ignorance or, uh…"

"Out with it then!" Thor had snapped, agitated and unhappy, and Tony Stark had flinched back from the power of his voice.

"Okay, okay, jeeze. Yeah, your brother's here. And no, we haven't done anything to hurt him. At least, uh, not intentionally…"

Thor's face must have darkened in expression, and the sudden upkick of raging wind and rain outside the tower's walls drove the point of his displeasure well enough, for Tony Stark had cringed back, holding his hands higher and pleading understanding.

"Look Thor, I don't know if you know, or, whatever, but he's a kid. Like, I mean, a little kid. Doesn't look like he could be more than five or six and, okay, Steve brought him in, and Clint might have freaked out a little and thought it was some sort of crazy evil plot, and hey, alright, you can't really blame him! And then he, Loki, I mean, he, uh, kind of just went poof!" Tony Stark's hands had spread out, making some absurd fluttering motion as if in demonstration. "Turns out he somehow ended up in my lab, which I kind of, maybe, sort of had calibrated to, er, neutralize your brother's magic. Which, again, can't really blame me, alright! Just calm down! And okay, maybe Loki didn't react so great to it, alright?! But Steve's got him now and is taking care of him and…"

"Where are they?" Thor had snapped, containing no more patience for the little man's litany of words.

"Thor, buddy…"

"WHERE!?" Thor's voice had boomed, literally shaking the walls of the tower.

That was all it had taken for Tony Stark to give up the location of his brother and the captain, and Thor had wasted no time further in discourse, heading there with ardent strides.

Moving down the hallways towards the designated room, he finds himself more eager by the moment to have Loki in his sights, where he can see him, and know he is safe. Know he is well.

"Captain!" He calls, unwilling or unable to wait longer for his reassurance to his brother's well being. "Captain, I am in urgent need to speak with you!"

There comes no reply, but as he draws faster down the corridor, Thor can feel more powerfully Loki's presence, and his own sense of urgency ratchets upward, quickening his stride until he is very nearly running.

He does not wait to be let in as he reaches the door, instead grabbing hold the handle, forgetting once more his own strength as the thing comes apart in his hand. He sneers, annoyed, at it, before simply tossing it aside and pushing the door in. That, too, he can hear the hinges grown and creak under the pressure of his strength.

But he has no more time for worrying about the flimsiness of these mortal things.

His brother is near and…

He comes to a halt when he is met, very suddenly, by the figure of Bruce Banner, looking flustered and hurried as he comes striding into the room from another, what Thor can only guess is this chambers washroom.

"Thor," he starts, voice stumbling slightly and shaking with a strange kind of nervousness. "hey…"

"I am here for my brother." Thor tells him pointedly, having dealt enough already with delay.

"Right," Bruce starts, glancing back behind him, towards the washroom, before again looking to the god. "you're…"

"He is there then." Thor gathers quickly, and he does not wait for Banner to finish whatever it was he had intended to say, moving past the man, smaller in stature than even Tony Stark, whilst in his current form, in any event. The Crown Prince spares a bear thought again for the smallness of human creatures, but it occupies his mind no more than a moment, before he is moving past the washroom's threshold, and into the lit space.

He stops, and he feels his breath fairly leave him.

Oh, in his haste to find him, had he nearly forgotten.

And he realizes only then, in that moment, how woefully and truly unprepared he had been.

He sees his brother, there. Sees him.

But it is his brother of the past.

It is the brother of his own childhood.

Oh, Thor had scarcely imagined it. Scarcely understood when Father had explained to him what he'd done.

Thor had not realized, until this moment, the vagueness of his own notion of what it truly meant, that Loki had been returned to a child.

And yet, in his minds eye, can he too see Loki so clearly, when he had been so young, for an Aesir's memory indeed is long lived as their lives. He remembers Loki then, oh, his sweet, shy, brilliant little brother, who then trailed behind him intently as his shadow, grasping hold of his hand or clinging with equal measure, tiny fingers buried in the cloth of his tunic.

Loki, who then had looked up at him with such plain and painful admiration, such awe.

He'd seen Thor as a hero then. Seen him as his champion.

And Thor had so badly wanted to be that for Loki. Had wanted to be his protector.

Thought he had been, until he'd realized in these most recent years, in all his reflections back, how truly and miserably he had failed in protecting his brother at all.

Oh, how he had failed.

He sees Loki there, his little brother, and he is that child again, looking up at him with wide eyed awe and such painful, brutal innocence.

For a moment, Thor feels all his great and vaunted strength leave him as water through a sieve, and he very nearly sinks then to his knees.

Oh, Loki… Loki…

He had not known truly how deeply missed his brother had been until this very moment…

"Loki…" he says, and his voice is naught but a choked whisper.

And then he watches as Loki's face simply… crumples.

In earnest then, his brother begins to weep, and a surge of near panic washes over the thunder god, confused and frightened by Loki's abrupt hysterics.

"Thor…" he hears, and casting his eyes from the tiny child before him, he sees the captain standing there, noticing him truly for the first time. "he's… he thought you'd be…"

Steve holds his hand low, and Thor understands quickly then.

Of course.

Of course. Oh, how could he have been so foolish?!

Loki has no memory, he remembers himself. No recollection of adulthood. No recollection of the years the two of them had grown together…

His brother had expected him to be of a similar age. Remembers Thor only as a child not much older than himself…

And here Thor stands before him now, fully seasoned and well into the age of manhood. A warrior grown into his place.

Oh, he must appear a frightening thing to young Loki.

Loki, who Thor recalls now had always, at this age, been so terribly afraid of the warrior class. Of those hardened and rough men walking about, and who had little time or patience for a silly young boy and his boundless questions and curiosity.

They'd used to snap at Loki, sometimes, Thor remembers.

"Away with you boy!" They'd hiss when Loki would somehow get in their way, or try in his shy and withdrawn manner to speak with them. And Loki would start badly and go running to Thor, burying his face against his stomach and clinging to him with shaking arms. So often would it happen that, in time, his brother would react so immediately to their presence. Would simply run away at the sight of them, quickly as he could.

For a moment then, Thor flounders, not knowing what to do, how to act.

Loki is crying, nearly sobbing with sudden fear and confusion, and the crown prince's first instinct is to go to him, to offer him comfort.

He takes a step closer, hands held up, and realizes a moment too late the mistake of it.

Loki nearly chokes on a gasp, stepping back, skinny arms coming up around himself, eyes locked and wide on Thor, tears still thick in them.

"Loki," Thor says, trying to keep his voice soft and low, halting where he stands. "brother…"

The captain stands stiffly between them, his own hands raised as though poised for action, but unsure what to do. His eyes shift between Thor and Loki, jaw clenched.

"Brother, please," Thor tries again, remaining where he is, and a loud sob breaks past the boy's lips, his face turning down.

"I u-u-understand nn-not." He cries, voice tiny and broken. "I uu-understand not."

Thor feels his heart sinking like a leaden weight in his chest, his own face contorting in pain.

He doesn't even realize until a moment afterwards that he's sunken down to his knees, and still he towers well over Loki, hands still upheld.

"Loki, you know me." He says.

He knows, eventually, he is going to have to try and explain this to his brother. Try and make him understand without frightening him further. For now, though, he thinks, it only matters that Loki recognize him.

"I am Thor. I am your brother." He presses gently.

"Thor, listen…" the captain starts when there comes no reply from the boy, but Thor halts him by holding up a hand, shaking his head, and he is grateful when his comrade falls silent.

And eventually, very slowly, Loki begins to raise his face, until he is peering up at Thor with wary, reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks.

He is shaking, uncontrollably so, and Thor wants nothing more than to close the distance between them and take Loki into his arms, hold him close. He forces himself to stillness, knowing to do so in that moment would end only in ruin.

Long moments pass in tense and uncertain silence as his little brother continues to study him with intelligent and scrutinizing eyes, and Thor lets him. Let's Loki see. He knows, if his brother can calm himself enough, he'll be able to sense his energy. He'll know him to be who he says he is.

Until finally, blessedly, Loki speaks.

"H-has a s-spell been cast on you?" He asks in a trembling voice, and Thor feels his own eyes sting with the threat of tears, both in overwhelming relief, to know Loki understands it to be him, and in grief, for how his brother is so lost in what has happened to himself.

He does not want to lie to Loki. Does not think he could do so successfully in any event. But he knows not either how to tell him the truth.

"Nay brother." He says. "But I cannot explain to you just now what it is that is happening. Only give you my word that I am your brother. That I love you, and I will let no harm come to you. This I swear."

Loki continues to look back at him for long seconds, tears still running from his eyes. But by turns now, he seems to be growing more calm, if only slightly, and Thor waits for him.

At last, his brother lifts his small hands, wiping clumsily at his face, sniffling loudly.

"You are so big." He says, voice small and scared.

And Thor can't help it. He laughs, the sound cracking with his own emotion.

"Aye." He says. "That I am. But I will use my great size only to protect you Loki. I swear this."

He holds his arms wide, and again, he waits.

Long moments pass again, Loki still standing there, staring back at him, unmoving.

Thor does not press. Does not force.

He understands better now his own folly in the past, always forcing his brother, always making him.

And then, Loki steps forward. A single step. And then another. And another. Still, Thor does not move. Keeps his arms open, keeps his eyes on his brother, soft and accepting.

Another step more, and then Loki breaks into a run, his bare feet nearly slipping on the smooth flooring of the washroom.

Thor allows himself finally to move, closing the space between them.

His brother barrels into him, sticklike arms reaching up, wrapping about his thick neck, and Thor reaches his own around, pulling the tiny body against his chest, letting himself fall onto his backside.

Loki buries his face in the space between neck and shoulder, shuddering hard as, again, he begins to cry, and Thor can only hold him tight, pressing his lips to the crown of his brother's head, kissing him firmly.

"It's alright Loki." He says softly against his ear. "It's alright. It's alright."


	10. Chapter 10

Thor sits across from the Captain and Loki, watching as his brother wriggles restlessly where he lies against Steve's chest, his face buried against the Captain's shoulder, small hands bunched in the material of the man's tunic. Sleeping. Steve has an arm wrapped round Loki's frame, holding him securely, a blanket draped across his body to keep him warm.

It is an astonishing sight, Thor thinks, realizing a moment later that he is smiling, memories of his and his brother's youth playing in vivid imagery across his mind. Memories of how Loki had always clung to him thusly. How he had been one of the few whom his brother had ever so fully trusted.

He and their Mother...

"It is remarkable," he says aloud, catching Steve's attention from where he'd been watching their play-box... television Thor recalls the name of it. When the Captain looks to him, he nods towards his brother. "He trusts you."

Steve blinks, seeming confused a moment, before glancing down at the boy lying against him. Thor sees him smile a moment before looking back up, the expression almost sheepish.

"Sorry." He says. "You probably want to be holding him..."

Thor shakes his head, raising a hand.

"Nay, 'tiss well. 'Tiss a pleasure to see my brother so at ease."

And that was the truth.

After so long and agonizing a search to find Loki, and after the scene which had ensued upon their reunion, this moment now, this peace, is as a blessing to the Thunderer.

Tony Stark had entered the small room they'd been gathered in shortly after he and his brother had embraced, and Loki's reaction to the man had been one of almost violent fear.

He'd startled badly, stumbling back, away from Thor, eyes wide as saucers as they'd fixed on Stark, before turning abruptly and staggering to Steve, throwing himself against the Captain's leg and pressing his face to it, arms wrapping tight round the limb.

A shouting match had erupted between Bruce and Tony and Thor.

Thor had been beside himself, seeing such a reaction from his brother at the simple sight of Stark, and he'd put himself in the mortal's face, demanding with overt threat to know what he had done to Loki. Stark had begun to defend himself with rapid words, as he always did, and Bruce had tried to intervene between them, asking unsuccessfully for calm.

Thor had been near to putting his hands on Tony when the Captain had barked out loudly for everyone to stop, and turning, Thor had seen Loki pressed more tightly still against Steve's leg, shaking viciously and sobbing uncontrollably.

The sight alone had been enough to drain all anger and violence out of the Crown Prince, only to be replaced by almost suffocating grief and despair to see his brother, his little brother, so frightened. So frighted of him.

Steve had chastised them all, and rightly so, before telling everyone excepting Thor to clear out.

There had been only mild hesitation on Tony's and Bruce's part, before they'd simply nodded in acknowledgment and left, much to Thor's relief.

He didn't know for how long he could tolerate Stark's presence, not as he had presently been.

Things now are much more at peace.

The Captain had lifted Loki up into his arms and led Thor back to his private rooms within the tower, where for the last few hours they've resided.

Loki had fallen asleep quickly, the energy he'd expended, both from his emotional state and from the use of his seidr, had drained him near completely, and Steve and Thor had sat in quiet conversation for a time, before settling on the play-box.

"He's a sweet kid." Steve says, looking down at Loki once more, and Thor nods.

"Aye, that he is." Thor answers. "I think, perhaps, you understand not the weight of his trust."

The Captain looks at him with curiosity, eyes questions, and Thor takes a moment to gather his thoughts and words.

"... He is every bit now as I remember him as a child." He begins finally. "I know that I times I may appear... unobservant or thoughtless to others." He sees Steve beginning to protest, and again he raises his hand to stop him, shaking his head. "It is well. You need not defend me Steve. I freely admit to my own bullheadedness and self-absorption. It is something even still I work to overcome. But I also see, and I know our friends, perhaps even you, have oft wondered at my continued defense of my brother, even in the face of his many committed atrocities. And yet, as you see Loki now, I have hope that perhaps you and the others may begin to better understand.

"This child you see now, this boy... that is who Loki was, for nearly all our lives. I know it is difficult for your kind to understand. Your lives are so brief, and I realize my brother and I appear as little more than children to you, hardly into manhood. But he and I both... we are over a thousand years old. A thousand and more of your mortal years. Loki was... for all his mischief and secrets, the most ardently loyal companion I have ever known. He stood with me, by my side, through everything. If... if you could have known the things he's endured for me... the ways in which he's sacrificed himself to protect me..."

Thor pauses, suddenly overcome by his own emotion, shaking his head and looking away, feeling the backs of his eyes stinging painfully.

"It was only in the last two years of our lives that Loki showed anything less than utter loyalty to me, less than complete love and devotion. Two years, out of more than a thousand. You must understand. There were times of course when he could be jealous and unkind in his words, cutting with his criticisms, though I will not pretend I did not oft deserve such harsh critique. Loki could frequently speak cruelly, but just as frequently his words were simply truth, given bluntly. But no matter the things he would say, Loki's actions always spoke more loudly, and he never failed me, never left me to suffer alone. Did, in truth, everything he ever could to keep me from suffering at all."

Again, Thor pauses, more memories assaulting his mind, opening fresh wounds within his heart.

His eyes well, and he does nothing to fight against them, simply letting them fall as his gaze falls to his sleeping brother. He looks so horribly fragile there, lying across Steve.

"He would come to me and comfort me whenever I had a need. Would sit with me for hours, throughout the whole day and night, and keep me joyous with his clever yarns and great wit. There has never been anyone who could make me laugh as my brother did. But... my complaints, I only realize now, were always so petty, my sufferings little. I had so much. Lauded and praised, admiration lavished on me by my people, the love and loyalty of many friends. The worst I ever endured was my Father or Mother at times denying me my childish demands. And in my selfishness..."

Thor shakes his head, wiping at his eyes.

"Loki never complained. Never spoke of his own difficulties, and in my selfishness, I never thought to ask. Never even considered he could be unhappy. Yet now I know how deeply he suffered. If I am to be honest, I should have known it then, even without Loki speaking to me of it. As I said, the way you see him now was how he was as a boy. Shy, withdrawn. He had no real friends, outside of myself and our mother. And as you now see, he was frail. Always undersized and weaker than the other children. It made him an easy target for their cruelty. As did his strange manner. They thought him womanly for his keen interest in books and magic and learning, and made sport of him for how he shied from physical endeavors, for his physical weakness."

Thor realizes his hands have balled to fists, and he forces them to loosen, breathes deeply to calm himself.

"I did not protect him as I should have. The way I was meant to. Loki, he... he admired me, as everyone else did. Looked up to me and trusted in me to keep him safe. I would never let anyone lay hands on him, though I know he was subjected to physical beatings from other children when I was not present. None would dare do so before me. Still, I did nothing when they would abuse him with their words and taunts. I thought then Loki was simply over sensitive, too easily affected. I would even at times chastise him for his tears, telling him a true warrior of Asgard did not cry. In my blindness, I failed to see how deep a betrayal that was to him, when he had so fully placed his trust in me. So you see, Captain... his trust in you is not a thing light. You must regard it with respect and responsibility."

"I understand. Steve answers, voice as serious as the Thunderer has ever heard it, and Thor knows that he does. "I won't let your brother down Thor. I promise. I'll protect him, with you."

Thor nods in return, allowing himself to smile.

"I thank you my friend. For my brother's sake, I thank you."

"It's only right." Steve replies. "But also, since we're talking about protecting him, we've gotta talk about how we're going to explain all this to him. Why you're grown and he's still a kid."

"Aye," Thor says. "but not just now. Look, he is waking."

He nods towards his brother, who is beginning to shift, his lids fluttering against his cheeks, a soft moan escaping his lips.

As Thor recalls it had been when a child, Loki takes long to fully wake, and once he does, he is just as slow to get up.

Instead he buries his face harder against Steve's shoulder, hands clinging tighter where they remain buried in the Captain's tunic.

"... 's it the morrow?" He asks, voice small and muffled and slurred with sleep still.

Thor is overcome then by the urge to scoop the boy up and hug him to his chest.

"Nay brother," he calls quietly instead. "'Tis still today."

That seems finally to rouse Loki somewhat, the boy finally pushing himself off the Captain's chest and sitting upright. He rubs tiredly at his eyes, blinking rapidly against the light in the room.

Thor cannot help his laughter at his brother's messed and curly hair, remembering how fussy he would later become over it, working at it for hours to straighten it before he'd finally mastered the spell to do it for him.

Loki looks up at him then, blinking slowly, before recognition comes back into his eyes, and a broad grin breaks out over his face.

"Thor!" He cries, suddenly jumping from the couch and stumbling towards the Crown Prince.

He leaps just as Thor opens his arms to catch him, taking the boy up as he stands and twirling him in a circle.

Loki laughs freely, the sound almost as a bell as he wraps his birdlike arms round Thor's neck.

Thor laughs with him, twirling him a second time before setting him gently back to his feet on the ground.

Loki looks up at him, eyes huge, filled with naked wonder and admiration, again, much as Thor recalls from their youth. It is hard for him to fully grasp that, for Loki, this still is his youth now. That his brother is, in every sense, that child again. He is so small, Thor thinks, barely standing at a height past his knees.

"You're so strong." Loki breathes, little hands gripping into the material of Thor's breeches.

Again, Thor laughs, rubbing a palm over Loki's head, mussing his hair even more.

"Aye, I will admit to that." He says.

Loki's eyes remain reverent, but very abruptly a kind of sadness seems to creep into his gaze, and he looks away, seeming to shrink in on himself.

"I must seem especially pitiful to you now. Now that you've grown so, and I remain so..." his voice trails off, and Thor feels his heart sink.

"Ha!" He replies, an idea striking him suddenly. "You flatter me brother. Why, just look at those strong arms of yours!" He bends down then, taking hold of Loki's hands and stretching his arms out at his sides, making a show then of feeling the boy's biceps. "Like solid oak, these arms!" He declares. "You put me to shame I fear, Loki."

Loki laughs, the sound this time a giggle, embarrassed and happy, and Thor knows he's said the right thing.

"Isn't that right Steve?" Thor asks the Captain, looking over his brother's head, towards the man.

"Sure is!" Steve smiles, standing up from where he'd been watching on the couch. I wonder how he'd do against us in an arm wrestling contest. What do you think Thor?"

"Well," Thor returns, looking down at his brother, Loki now looking between him and the Captain with curious eyes. "he may perhaps claim victory over us. What say we put it to the challenge? You think you can best both myself and Steve brother?"

Loki, for a moment, looks unsure, even a little frightened.

"I..." he begins, voice small.

"Here," Steve goes on when Loki doesn't finish, moving over to the low table situated before the couch, clearing away the various items cluttering it. "we'll use this. How about I go first?"

He gets down on his knees, placing an elbow down atop the wooden surface and waiting.

"Go on brother." Thor encourages as he sees Loki hesitate, staring uncertainly at the Captain. "You are stronger than you believe."

Loki looks back up at him, still unsure, and Thor smiles at him, hoping it gives him courage to try.

Thor trusts in Steve completely to understand how this game works. Were he any other mortal man, Loki in truth could win this, and win it quite easily. But Steve is far stronger than an average mortal, and Thor knows the Captain has seen the insecurities in Loki, and knows Steve has in him a pure, good heart. He'll let his brother win.

Finally then, Loki moves towards the table, getting down on his own knees across from the Captain and mimicking Steve's position.

Joining hands, Loki looks only more fragile across from the man, his hand engulfed near completely by Steve's. But Thor can tell easily that the Captain hardly squeezes back.

"Very good then. On my count of three, you begin." Thor instructs.

Loki looks perfectly serious and nervous in equal measure, his eyes fixed on his and Steve's joined hands. For his part, the Captain looks over at Thor, smiling reassuringly.

"Very good then. On three." Thor announces. "One... two... three!"

The Captain puts on a good show of struggling for a time, and Thor is impressed by how good an actor Steve seems in truth to be. Loki, for his part, is giving his greatest effort, and perhaps it would even be a little challenge for Steve, if he were serious in his own effort. He lets it last perhaps half a minute before he allows Loki to push his arm flat.

His brother's reaction is enormous.

Loki jumps up to his feet, a look of both shock and joy playing across his features as he lets out a loud yelp.

"I won!" He shouts. "I won!"

Steve leans back, putting his hands up in a sign of surrender.

"Man, you sure showed me kiddo!" He says, smiling. "I won't be challenging you to any more arm wrestling contests, not for a while."

Loki's joy is so much that he believes it, Thor realizes, and it both makes his heart soar and sink in equal measure. To know it means so much to his brother to have shown a measure of prowess at anything physical, that in it, he could detect no lie.

And so he allows himself to be bested as well, much the same as Steve had.

Of that Loki is more suspicious. But believing himself, truly, to have bested Steve, continues to keep him jubilant throughout the rest of the evening, until it is time for him to go to sleep.

In turn Loki gives both he and Steve a tight embrace, after the two of them have gotten him ready for bed and tucked well in.

It is near overwhelming, the way Loki clings to Thor.

"I love you Thor." Loki tells him, openly and unabashedly, and it is all Thor can do to keep from breaking into tears.

"I love you too Loki." He manages, kissing his brother along the forehead. "Never doubt that."


	11. Chapter 11

When Loki wakes, it is in the middle of the night, as so often he does, and he lays there a long while, wondering if all he remembers from the previous day had all been a dream.

The arrival of Thor, grown fully to a man, while he remained but a boy, weak and pitiful... Thor was not that much older than he, and so surely it was by means of magic that his brother had been aged up, though to what purpose, what end, Loki could not begin to fathom.

Loki was not stupid. That was one thing of himself of which he was sure. He may be weak and small and a sorry excuse for a son of Odin, but he was smart, and that was the one strength of his on which he relied the most.

Thor was hiding something from him, as was Steve Rogerson, though Loki could glean well enough that whatever it was they hid, it was solely for his benefit.

He wishes sorely they would not. He may be a child, but it stung him to know they did not trust in his courage and understanding enough to impart their secret to him.

Whatever it was, Loki too strongly suspected it had some connection to the other mortals residing in this place. They acted as if they knew him, though he had never in his life laid eyes on a single one of them.

Not that he could recall, in any event.

That was what troubled him so greatly. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember how he'd come to be here, on Midgard, naked and alone and lost.

Couldn't remember, either, when it was Midgard had grown so vastly in it's advancements. He'd been here to visit with Father and Thor once, perhaps two, maybe three decades previous. They had been decidedly barbaric then, he recalls, their ways exceedingly, almost childishly simple, living in mud huts and relying on fire to keep them warm and give them light. A people governed by their own superstition and fear.

Certainly, their ways were still laughably simplistic compared with the Aesir, but in juxtaposition to what he recalled of them before, they were near unbelievably more developed.

It frightened him, in a way, though he couldn't say why. He hadn't thought the human's were so ingenues, hadn't thought they were so absolutely determined. If, for whatever reason, Asgard found in Midgard an enemy, they may conceivably pose a true threat.

When he'd woken in that foul smelling, garbage laden passageway, and stumbled out into the blinding daylight, overcome at once by sound and smell and pressing bodies rushing past at dizzying speeds, when he'd looked up to the sky and seen towers reaching up, up, up, seeming to touch the clouds, he'd been so overwhelmed, he'd nearly passed out. He hadn't understood. Hadn't known where he was.

No realm he'd ever visited had ever been so loud, nor had there been so many people, all of them dressed so strangely, none of them seeming to even notice him...

He'd been terrified then, wandering aimlessly, not knowing where he was going or how he was supposed to get home.

He'd nearly been run clean over by the mortal's odd metal carriages a dozen or more times, a loud, blaring noise emitting from the front of their vehicles each time, their red, angry faces pressed up against the glass, twisted in disgust for him.

Eventually, he's stumbled into an area which seemed at least somewhat familiar, with it's green grass and trees, though here too there'd been so many bodies. Loki had begun to think he understood then what an insect felt like beneath the boots of larger creatures.

He'd tried calling to Heimdall from there, crying out, praying the Gatekeeper would hear him and pull him back home.

But nothing had happened, and Loki, to his shame, had begun to cry.

That was when he'd also learned how viciously dangerous the mortals could be. Another thing he hadn't thought of them. They'd seemed so insubstantial to him before. So weak when compared to Father.

But they'd proved anything but.

It was a circumstance familiar to him, being chased and bullied by older and bigger boys. But at least in Asgard, Loki had had the advantage of familiarity. He knew so many good hiding places. And though he didn't always reach them in time, and the beatings would be bad when he was caught, here, on Midgard, he hadn't known any place to hide at all, and the boys who'd found him had been more abjectly cruel than any he'd ever encountered at home.

They weren't as strong. Not nearly so. And thinking about it now, Loki realizes he very likely could have overpowered any one of them. But he'd been so utterly frightened, and his fear had left him weak and paralyzed as they'd fallen upon him and began kicking and hitting him with violent blows and even uglier words.

All Loki had been able to do was curl up with his arms above his head and pray they didn't kill him.

They'd hated him, and Loki hadn't even known why. He didn't know these boys. Had never before seen them. Though maybe it was like the adult mortals who were Steve's friends, and they'd mistook him for someone they did know.

It was finally Loki's terror had subsided enough, and the instinct to survive had kicked in, that he'd willed himself to push free of their hands and run.

He hadn't known where he was going. He'd only known that he had to get away, and he'd pushed and pushed himself until his heart felt like it might explode and his lungs burned with seeming fire.

After that, his memories again became clouded. He remember running straight into Steve, though he hadn't known his name then. Remembered looking up at him and feeling only more fear.

After that, he only recalled waking in Steve's small apartment, and everything that had since followed.

Steve Rogerson... As mean as those boys had been, if there were mortals like Steve Rogerson in this realm, then perhaps it wasn't all so very awful, Loki thought.

After a while, Loki decides he isn't going to be falling back asleep, and he pushes himself up from the bed, wondering with real hesitation if he might get in trouble for being up and about at such an hour. Most usually, at home, when he would leave his rooms in the middle of the night, one of the royal guard would find him and give him a light scolding before marching him back to bed.

There weren't any such guards here. Not that Loki had seen. But as he'd also learned, the rooms in this strange place could be suffused with an awful energy. One that turned his own so brutally against him. And that knowledge now kept him frozen where he saw for long minutes.

He didn't want that to happen again.

But eventually, Loki's curiosity, as always, seems to overwhelm him, and anyway, a true warrior of Asgard wouldn't let such a little thing frighten them away.

He had to be a man sometimes.

Pushing himself from the cot, he drops to the carpeted floor, the rug feeling nice against his bare feet, and he begins from the room quietly.

The lights are mostly out, save for a few, low ones emanating from the ceiling.

It wouldn't matter much to Loki either way. He's always seen perfectly well in the dark.

As he wanders through the wide open space of the living area, he wonders which room his brother is staying in. There's several in this apartment, and Loki is overcome by an almost desperate need to see Thor, to make sure he's real and there.

He doesn't want to seem clingy though. He knows he has a tendency to irritate Thor with his constant need to be around him. Knows it can embarrass him in front of his friends.

And so he tamps down the need, instead occupying himself with exploration.

There are so many fascinating, if simply designed contraptions in this realm, and Loki finds himself nearly overwhelmed with excitement at the prospect of discovering them all.

Moving through the main gathering area, one he'd heard Steve refer to as the "living" room, he eyes the moving picture box, again recalling Steve's word for it. Television.

That very much is something Loki wants to examine further, having only caught glimpses of it until now. At first he'd thought it magic, for how the pictures seemed similar to his illusions, only they were flat in dimension, not fully rounded, and he could sense no such energy emanating from the strange, flat panel. Soon he'd realized it to be something else entirely.

He had so many questions he wanted to ask, so many thing he didn't yet understand.

But he was afraid to.

He often would be yelled at at home for asking too many questions. Told to be quiet. Told to shut up. He was too nosy, a lot of the adults said.

When they would become angry, sometimes even, when he had been by himself, they would hurt him for being too nosy. Push him or hit him. Never bad enough to leave a bruise, but... they always said if he told anyone, they would hurt him bad enough to do more than that.

And... and after what had happened before, when he'd stepped through the branches and ended up in that strange, bright room... that... that force which had turned... turned his own magic against him...

If the mortals held such power now he didn't... didn't want to make them angry too.

They already seemed to hate him. Everyone but Steve Rogerson. Steve likely wouldn't hurt him if he asked questions. And... and anyway, Thor was here now, and Loki knows Thor wouldn't let anyone hurt him.

He shakes his head, trying to push the swirling thoughts down. He'll make himself overly excited and unwell if he keeps it up.

Continuing to move through the space, he passes by the kitchen. Or what had been to explained to him as a kitchen. It seemed rather too small, Loki had thought. The kitchens in the palace were extensive, large enough to easily cook full feasts for the many dozens of warriors and courtiers alike, near every night.

This kitchen seemed barely large enough to cook enough food for even one Aesir.

Still, Loki realizes in that moment that he's rather hungry, and curiosity once again wins the day.

Moving towards the giant, silver ice box... a refrigerator, if Loki recalls correctly, he grabs hold the handle and pulls the door open, met with a soft rush of cold air.

The thing is filled with various, strangely wrapped foodstuffs. Loki recognizes some of them. The odd, flimsy container which holds eggs, and the juice squeezed from an orange, also strangely contained in a hard, clear material.

Most of it, Loki has no idea what it is, and for a moment, he fills overwhelmed. There's so much.

He sighs, quickly growing frustrated and bored, before deciding to try his luck elsewhere, closing the icebox door and moving on to the various shelves and cabinets.

He isn't tall enough to reach the ones above the counter, and glancing round himself to make sure no one is watching, he grabs hold the counters edge and pulls himself up onto it, bringing himself eye level with the shelving.

Pulling them open, he's met with just as great a variety of things, these items contained within brightly colored and gaudy packaging. Again, he finds himself growing curious, and reaching out, he takes up one of the bags, the glossed and slick material feeling funny against the pads of his fingers, making a loud, crinkling sound.

There's some sort of... pincer mechanism holding it closed, easy enough to figure out, and a moment later, Loki is hit with an overpowering, almost cloying scent of onion and grease.

His lip curls, his throat closing up as he turns his face away.

"Blah!" He snorts, wrapping the bag back up and putting it back where he found it.

Whatever that was, it was disgusting, he thinks.

Maybe it would be best simply to wait until morning, when Steve would make breakfast.

But he's hungry now, and with all this food, there must be something edible.

Rummaging around some more, he comes across a flimsy, brightly colored box, the words "Pop Tarts" written across the front.

He fumbles a minute to get it open, and looking inside, there's more, shiny wrapping, slick like the bag with the greasy smelling food.

Tearing it open, and there's some sort of dry, flat pastry inside, and Loki finds himself relieved to discover it doesn't smell so foul.

Still, he feels vague apprehension at the thought of trying it. It seems edible enough though, and so after a long, few moments, he finally works up the courage to take a bite.

A spicy, sweet taste fills his mouth, extraordinarily delicious, Loki's eyes going wide in pleasant surprise.

Well, he thinks, chewing thoughtfully and swallowing, these will do.

Tucking the box under his arm, carefully he lowers himself off of the counter, back onto the floor, taking another bite of the pastry as he continues to explore.

He discovers various machines and instruments, again, like most things in this realm, powered by their electricity. It's clever, Loki thinks, how the mortals have learned to harness a kind of energy not connected to the Tree.

Beings without magic, but they'd certainly made the best of what they did have.

Continuing to chew on his pastry, he spots a bright red contraption situated along the counter top, the color of it reminding Loki of Thor's cape, drawing his attention.

It's a bit of a struggle for him to reach it from the floor, having to stand on the very tips of his toes to grab it.

Eventually he manages, having to pull the thing free from the wall where it attaches by a thick, soft cord. Loki's figured already this is where the mortal's electricity feeds into the machine.

Looking the metal contraption over, he observes two slots placed along the things top surface, what he thinks are heating conduits positioned within the slots.

Whatever it is, Loki finds himself fascinated, his thoughts soon turning fully to examining the thing further.

He's hardly aware even then of having sunk to the floor with it in his hands, box of dry pastries at his side, nibbling absently as he sets to pulling the thing apart.

/

"Sir..."

Tony vaguely registers JARVIS' voice somewhere in the peripheral of his consciousness as he continues to tinker away at the left gauntlet of his suit.

"Sir." The AI continues, more insistently.

Tony sighs, irritated.

"What is it J?" He asks, finally looking up from his work. The damage he'd sustained to the gauntlet in their last battle was giving him fits. He was just about ready to simply scrap the whole thing and build a new one.

"Sir," JARVIS continues, the exasperation clear in his own voice, and Tony realizes the AI must have been trying to get his attention for a while now. "I think you should like to be informed that our young guest is currently fully awake, sitting upon the floor of the kitchen in Captain Rogers apartment, dissecting a toaster."

It takes several seconds for Tony's brain to catch up to that, staring ahead, blinking.

"... Uhh, you wanna run that by me again Jarv?" He asks finally, still trying to process.

The AI begins to repeat himself, and Tony flaps his hands impatiently, shaking his head.

"Alright, alright, I got it the first time." He cuts JARVIS off. "Just... okay, first of all, what the hell? And second, why are you telling me this? Why not tell Steveo or Big Brother?"

JARVIS sighs, as if having to explain any of this to Tony is some huge imposition.

"As I explained already Sir, I tried rousing both Captain Rogers and Mr. Odinson, but both of them, apparently, are deeply asleep, and failing to respond to my attempts."

"Well you obviously aren't trying hard enough." Tony accuses, feeling an unpleasant churning in the pit of his stomach, not liking at all where this is going.

After everything that's happened today... well, technically yesterday now, he really, really doesn't want to have anything to do with mini reindeer games. He still doesn't trust that Loki isn't playing some elaborate scheme to lull them all into a false sense of safety before he turns back to super psycho, super strong, magical maniac and tries to kill them all.

And besides that, he doesn't like kids. Like, really, really doesn't. Bratty, obnoxious, selfish little assholes that they are.

If Loki's frankly unpleasant attitude from before was anything to judge by, then Tony can't imagine he'll be much better as a little boy.

He didn't care what Steve had to say, because Steve, in his perfect, accepting heart, thought everyone was of some sort of value.

Steve was an idiot.

"Clearly not." JARVIS interrupts his thoughts. "You'll forgive me Sir but, since both Captain Rogers and Mr. Odinson are asleep, and you are very much awake, I thought it more courteous to inform you of the situation, rather than rudely awaken your much respected teammates when such would be wholly unnecessary."

"Wow J, you're just... a paragon of thoughtfulness, aren't you?" Tony snips.

"I try Sir." JARVIS snips right back, and not for the first time, Tony finds himself regretting making the bastard so damn smart.

/

He can't believe he's doing this.

He can't believe he let JARVIS talk him into doing this.

How the hell was this his responsibility again?

God damn it, with his luck, Loki will probably choose the very moment he walks through the door to turn back into his real self and zap the shit out of him with his creepy magical powers, or whatever.

Probably turn him into an eggplant or something.

God damn it.

"You owe me for this one J." He mutters angrily.

"I'm sure." JARVIS replies boredly.

Tony just shakes his head, stepping off the lift and heading towards Steve's apartments.

Reaching the door, and he stands there for several, long seconds, looking at the floor, hesitating.

He should've worn the suit, he thinks. Well... if he'd worn the suit, and Loki really wasn't... pretending to be some snotty little kid, he might end up scaring the shit out of him, and then he'd have Big Brother to contend with, and angry Steve, and...

Oh, what the hell was he waiting for?

He wasn't actually afraid of the little bastard, was he?

Sure, Mr. Little Prince was stronger than your average, humanoid kid, but still, the fucker was tiny. If he tried to attack, Tony could just... kick him off, probably. Yeah. Or pick him up and throw him.

That thought makes Tony smirk.

See how Loki likes a taste of his own medicine.

Alright, he thinks, shaking his head of the thoughts. He just had to get this over with. Take the toaster away from Lord Destructor and put him back to bed and no one had to be the wiser.

Cool. Easy. Simple. No problem.

Fuck this.

He keys in the code to open the door and steps through in quick succession, because if he's going to die, he wants to die like a man.

The apartment is dark, save for a few, low tracking lights, and almost entirely soundless, except for an almost inaudible noise coming from, right, the direction of the kitchen.

Tony hates his life, he really does.

Moving slowly forward, towards the sound, Tony's breathes sound too loud in his ears, his heart beating too hard against his rib cage.

He shouldn't be this freaked out. Seriously. It's so lame.

But he's doing this, and that's good. So he's not a complete wuss.

Only he knows there's no way he's going to be able to sneak up on Loki.

The little reptile probably already knows he's here, and is luring him into his elaborate trap so he can reduce him to a pile of dust with his zappy, otherworldly powers.

But as he continues towards the kitchen, the sound doesn't stop. Nor does it when he's in view of it finally, and he sees, sitting there, his scrawny back turned towards him, Loki, cross legged on the floor, tinkering away at something (the toaster, presumably).

There's a soft, green glow emitting from the kid's hands, and oh Jesus, Tony really is gonna die, isn't he?

Loki's probably rendering some sort of death ray right now, just waiting for Tony to get close enough so he can turn around and shoot him with it.

Only, as he continues to step nearer, Loki still doesn't react, doesn't turn around... doesn't show any sign at all that he's even aware Tony is behind him, until Tony is standing directly over him, looking down at the kid and what he's doing.

Tony feels his brows shoot up in surprise.

Loki has the entire toaster taken apart, carefully so, all of its parts laid out carefully in front of him, which, Tony thinks, would be impressive in and of itself, given the delicacy required to do that without just breaking everything.

Loki looks like he's about six or seven years old. Any normal kid that age, if they could even figure out how to get a toaster apart, would have smashed the thing to smithereens, because kids are assholes and stupid.

The thing though that's got Tony most impressed as he watches the kid, is that he's making something out of the parts.

Like, an actual something.

Not a death ray gun, like Tony had only half seriously thought, but more like... well, some sort of incredibly intricate, elaborate toy.

It looks like some sort of animal... sort of like a dragon, well, no, definitely a dragon, with delicate, metal wings, so expertly, beautifully crafted, they look like they would have the pliability of something organic, the rest of the body, from head to tail, equally as detailed and fine, sporting hundreds of individual red scales, it's underbelly black and silver.

Staring at it for long seconds, Tony isn't sure he could have crafted something more... perfect.

He notices then that Loki is using his magic... well, Tony's gonna guess that's what the soft green light which dances between the kid's small fingers is, he's using it to solder the parts together, using it also as a means to soften the metal and shape it then with his hands.

Okay, so... that's insane, Tony thinks.

Also, really fucking awesome.

"So I guess you really are Thor's brother, huh?" He says.

And he guesses Loki really hadn't known he was there, if the way the kid gasps loudly and jumps about a foot in the air is any indication.

Tony tries not to act fazed when the boy spins round, dropping his toy dragon and staring up at him with huge, terrified eyes.

He nods instead towards the box of Pop Tarts, two of the silver packages sitting empty along the floor.

"Thor must eat, like, ten boxes of those things a day. Dude's got a crazy fast metabolism not to get fat I guess. I'm thinking you probably have the same."

Loki only continues to stare up at him, his small chest heaving up and down too quickly, and Tony is starting to think now maybe he was wrong about the god faking it. Either that, or he's the best actor in the history of ever, because damn, he looks scared.

"Look," Tony starts, thinking he should maybe try to calm the little guy down before something bad happens.

"I'm sorry!" Loki blurts suddenly, his voice wavering badly. "I'm s-s-sorry!"

Tony blinks, taken aback.

"Whoa," he starts, putting his hands up. "whoa, hey now..."

"I d-did not mm-mean to, to, to... to..." the kid continues to stutter as if he hasn't even heard Tony. "to destroy the c-contraption, it w-ww... was just... just... and I thought... I tt-tend to get c-carried away and... I c-can make it exactly as it ww-was, I swear it. I can..."

"Hey, hey, hey, just calm down now." Tony starts. "Just calm down. It's just a toaster little man. No big deal."

Loki blinks up at him, his face lined in confusion and fear still.

Tony finds himself smiling at him despite himself.

The kid really is cute, now that he's looking at him.

"Besides," he shrugs. "that thing you made's way cooler."

Loki keeps staring up at him, breath still shallow and ragged, and Tony realizes maybe he should make himself look less threatening, and so he crouches down until he's only a little above eye level with the kid.

"Can I look at it?"

He begins reaching for the dragon, freezing when Loki flinches violently back from him, as if he'd thought Tony was going to hit him, and Tony feels his heart sink hard into the pit of his stomach.

He recognizes that reaction.

Recognizes a kid who's used to being hit... who expects to be hit.

Memories flood his mind, that familiar fear he'd felt, that dread, every time his own father would raise his hand and...

He shakes his head, forcing himself back to the present, eyes focusing again on the little boy in front of him.

"Hey," he says, keeping his voice soft. "hey, it's alright. Look. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to look at what you made. Is that alright? It looks pretty awesome to me."

Loki continues to look up at him fearfully, but as the seconds pass, and Tony holds himself still, his hands raised where the kid can see them, slowly, Loki seems to relax, if only a little, and eventually, he gives a weak nod, picking the toy up himself and offering it.

Tony smiles.

"Cool." He says, reaching again, slowly, for the dragon, taking it from the boy's hands.

Looking at it more closely, it really is pretty fucking amazing, Tony thinks, turning it over in his hands, examining it.

The intricacy and level of craftsmanship shouldn't be possible for someone so young. Hell, it would be impressive even for him to have built, he thinks, unable to help the wonder he feels.

"You built this out of a toaster?" Tony asks almost absently.

"... I..." He hears Loki start, his voice as little and fragile as he is, and looking up at the kid, he sees him with his arms wrapped round himself, his small hands kneading in the material of his oversized shirt. "I like to build th-things." He finally finishes, looking at the floor.

"That's pretty cool man." Tony says, trying to sound encouraging. "I like to build things too."

That gets the kid's attention, Loki looking back up at him, his eyes curious now.

"... You do?" He asks softly, and Tony nods, grinning.

"Sure do. I've got all kinds of cool stuff I bet you'd like."

Loki blinks, swallowing.

He seems to hesitate a moment, his hands rubbing up and down his arms.

"What is... is c-cool? Your meaning s-s... seems to differ f-from the typical definition."

Tony almost wants to laugh at the boy's sophisticated speech. It sounds so incongruous coming from such a young sounding voice.

"It means... uh, well, it's slang, here on Earth. Midgard. It means neat or interesting or... something positive. You know?"

Loki nods.

"I... I think so." He answers. "... You make things?" He goes on after a brief pause.

"Yup." Tony answers enthusiastically, and he's surprised by the sincerity of the desire he at once feels to show Loki his workshop. "Mechanical things, like this... dragon of yours?"

And just like that, Loki's eyes lit up, the fear of moments before seeming to almost entirely vanish as he nodded excitedly.

"'Tiss a Mountain dragon." He explains, smiling. And Jesus, he looks exactly like Tony remembers him looking... before. Only there isn't any of the malice, or mocking. He just looks like a sweet kid. "Though I've been lead to believe you don't have dragons in this Realm?"

Tony shrugs.

"None that I've ever seen. But hey, weirder things have been discovered, so it wouldn't surprise me if they're hiding out someplace."

"They most usually live in caves." Loki supplies, so matter of factly that Tony can't help laughing out loud.

"They do, huh?" He asks, and Loki nods, very sagely.

"Well, look kiddo, how about this?" Tony goes on. "It's a little late to be taking you around and showing you all my stuff, so I'll make you a deal. If you go back to bed now, I promise in the morning I'll give you the full tour. What do you say?"

"Truly?" The boy asks, a kind of naked wonder in his voice, and Tony smiles again, nodding.

"My solemn oath." He says.

Loki's eyes are bright with excitement, but a moment later, his expression seems to fall into one of more seriousness.

"... This is a great boon indeed." He starts. "And I fear I have little to offer you in return, but... y-you... you seem fond of the d-dragon." He nods towards the toy still in Tony's hands. "Would... would it be a suitable trade?" Loki asks, looking back up at him with hopeful eyes.

Tony doesn't know why, but something about it... about the kid thinking he needs to give him anything just for offering to show him around his lab, makes him feel wrong.

"You'd give this to me?" He asks instead, not even having to pretend at his astonishment.

The toy is so beautifully crafted, it would be worth several hundred dollars at least, maybe over a thousand even.

Loki nods, again, that same, hopeful expression in his eyes.

"Wow, Loki, that's... that's really nice of you man. I'd be honored."

"Then it's yours." The boy says. "And I will return to my chambers, as promised."

/

Making his way back down to his lab, Tony stares down at the beautiful creation in his hands, marveling at it, thinking on the whole encounter with the boy.

And he really was a boy, Tony thinks, amazed.

He doesn't know how he knows, but he just does.

Loki isn't faking, whatever's going on.

More incredible to Tony still, he thinks, is just what a sweet kid he is.

That's what Tony can't get over.

Thinking about it more, and something in the realization breaks his heart.


	12. Chapter 12

Frigga remembers Loki as a child.

Remembers it as though it were but a single rise and set of the suns away, and not more than eight centuries past.

She remembers her boy, her sweet, retiring, shy son. Sweetness itself, she remembers calling him, because he had been. That was what Loki had been.

The kindest, most gentle and good-natured child she had ever known.

It was why, at times still, she could not reconcile, could not accept what he had, eventually, become.

This hate-filled, bitterly spiteful and viciously angry young man he had become. It was nothing of the son she remembered raising. Nothing of who she knew Loki, deep down, to still be.

She knew, too, for he had not begun showing signs of his raging and vengeful emotion until well into his maturity.

His sweet disposition had remained with him until he was a man.

It seemed to her still that, whatever had changed within him, it had been a sudden and unexpected shift. A change without warning.

One day, he was as loving and gentle and caring as ever, the next, he was aloof, cold and removed and without affection.

Where before his gift for words had spoken kind and generous thoughts, his tongue then turned to spitting vicious and devastating barbs and destructive insults, to the point most became wary of even engaging the second and youngest prince.

There were moments, to be sure, when flashes of who Loki had been came shining through. When Frigga would recognize the child she had raised since infancy, returned to her suddenly. Moments when he would look at her with such tenderness, with such patient and thoughtful kindness, and she knew, she knew, her true boy was still there, underneath the shell of armor he had built around himself.

But as the years wore on, those glimpses became fewer and fewer and farther between, until she hardly ever saw them at all.

But Frigga knows she deceives herself in this. Knows that the change, however sudden it may have seemed, had in truth been taking root for centuries.

Loki, for all his sweetness, all his kindness and gentility, had too been an unhappy child. Unhappy, for few had ever treated him with the same kindness he showed, with any sort of real camaraderie, or friendliness.

In point of fact, they had oft treated Loki with the opposite. With meanness, even cruelty at times, their games of teasing always, with her youngest son, taking a decidedly menacing and ugly turn. It wasn't the normal teasing between children, between boys especially. It was done with a blatant and unhidden attempt to injure, to hurt and humiliate and cow.

They had sensed in Loki a difference, though none knew of his true heritage. But they felt he was other from them, and, Frigga knew, coupled with Loki's at times odd and wilting nature, his soft-spoken words and uncommon maturity, his obvious and intimidating intellect, and his frail physical form, he presented to the other children, even to some of the adults, a ripe and ready target for all their own fears and bigotry.

Frigga had tried as best she could to shield her son from these harsh treatments, from the ugly and brutal rejection so common among the Aesir towards anything or anyone different from them. But she had only been capable of protecting Loki so much.

He had been attached to his brother as if they shared one form. Scarce was Loki ever seen not by Thor's side, trailing along after him like the crowned prince's shadow, looking up to Thor with a revrance, almost a worshipful gaze.

Thor had been Loki's hero, and anything his older, stronger brother could do, Loki had wished badly to be able to do in turn. Had wished so badly to impress Thor, and Odin too, whom Loki also worshiped.

That had meant following his brother wherever he commanded, doing whatever he deemed worthy, being at Thor's side, with Thor's friends. Not Loki's. Thor's. And Thor's friends had never been very kind towards the younger prince, never welcoming. Only Volstagg had ever shown a modicum of kindness towards Loki, and even then, with the pressure of the others, that had been reserved.

Loki's inability to equal or even moderately compete with Thor on the training fields had only made things worse. Loki had been sickly, weak, and that had been something that, among a culture which, above all else, admired strength of arm and courage, had been unforgivable.

The other children hounded and harassed Loki relentlessly and without mercy.

Frigga still held so many awful, heartrending memories of finding her son overwhelmed with tears, sobbing violently, terrified and confused and in so much pain over the things the other children said to him. Over the things they did to him...

Frigga had always tried to comfort him, to make him understand that the things they said weren't true, that he should never, ever listen to them. Tried to make him see how brilliant and gifted and amazing he was.

Only she knew her efforts were never good enough. That Loki never, fully believed her.

She knew he'd started disliking himself from an early age, dissatisfied and with waning self-regard.

Especially beside Thor. Golden, shining Thor, who's very presence was as sought after as the most precious jewel. Whom others flocked to and surrounded as though just to be near him would better their lives, better them.

Loki had had no friends. None besides Thor himself. And Thor, it seemed at times, was everybody's friend.

Frigga knew of course that, above all others, Thor adored his little brother. That to him, Loki was the most important and loved being in all the nine realms.

But Loki had never been able to believe it himself. Had never been able to see how much he meant to Thor, when Thor was so generous and loving towards all. Towards, in Loki's mind, those who deserved that love so much more than he.

Frigga should have known, she thinks now. She should have seen how utterly her son was falling apart all those years. How he had been holding on just by the tips of his fingers, just barely.

And when Odin had cast his punishment, when he had robbed Loki of his years and his memories and his experiences, when Frigga had seen him there, seen exactly as she recalled her young son, returned to a boy, she had felt herself torn between both grief and hope.

In an instant, thoughts had rushed through her mind of how this time could be different, this time... this time, she could protect her son, would protect him. Would tell him the truth of his heritage, would not try foolishly, so foolishly, to hide it from him. Would keep him safe and well and...

And then Odin had cast him down to Midgard, into the middle of that bustling, filth-ridden city of New York.

Frigga at first had simply been too stunned to do naught but stand there, staring at the spot in which her youngest child had just been, and then to Odin, her husband standing there, turned away, head bowed, as if in some sort of mourning.

Frigga had thought a moment to confront him, to scream and curse in his face, to demand from him that he bring their child back.

But, looking at him, at Odin's resigned and even grieving figure, she had known there was little use in it. When her husband set his mind to a thing, most especially in the heat of decision, there was no swaying him from it.

Perhaps later, then, she'd thought. Later, she would speak with him, when she herself had calmed, and was not so governed by immediate emotion.

And then she had fled for the Observatory, to Heimdall, her heart racing and her eyes thick already with tears.

By the time she'd reached him, dismounting her horse on trembling legs, her heart had been beating sickeningly in her chest, her breath coming heavy and hard.

Heimdall, of course, had already known her purpose for being there, and he had told her, told her precisely what she had been so fearful of.

That Loki had awoken, lost and confused and frightened. That he was then wandering the streets, disoriented and terrified.

Frigga had stood by Heimdall's side, stricken and tearful, unable to keep herself from asking the Gatekeeper to tell him what was occurring with her boy, at once too wishing desperately not to know.

When Loki had begun crying out to Heimdall, it had been all Frigga could bear. She had begged the Watcher to send her down, to send her to her boy, but Heimdall had already been instructed by Odin to do no such thing, and could not disobey his king.

When those boys had found Loki... when those mortal children had begun to beat him...

Frigga had lost what composure she had left to her then, and still the memory only somewhat shames her, for her desperation had been consuming.

She had thrown herself at Heimdall's sword after falling to her knees and entreating him brokenly to let her go to her son. He had refused her, as he had been obliged, and she had tried wresting his sword from his very grasp and calling the Bifrost to life.

He had overpowered her, though he had done so gently, and she had been too grief stricken to fight.

And then, Heimdall had said, arms wrapped round her, that Loki had run, that he'd met, somehow, the mortal man so called Steven Rogers, one of Thor's newest shield brothers, that an accident had occurred, Loki had been struck by one of the mortals metal traveling contraptions, but that the man had taken him with him to his dwelling, had cared for and nursed him, was taking care of him.

Since then, Frigga had come every day to Heimdall, asking after her son. When not there, she sat, hour after hour at her scrying pool, watching him, looking over him.

She had, in that time, refused to speak with her husband, and Odin knew better than to try and force their interaction.

She had also in secret given her blessing to Thor to go to Midgard and find Loki, though she hadn't safely been able to tell him where on that realm his brother was, not without endangering Thor's ability to travel to him. If Odin knew, he surely would have ordered Thor to remain in Asgard. She thanked the Norns then that her first son had the pretense of going to the middle realm to fight alongside his shield companions in their many travails and battles.

She knew, most likely, Odin was not fooled by this, but it was appearance her husband was concerned with. So long as he could remove himself from accusations of favoring Loki, then he would allow much. It was why, too, he could not allow Frigga to go to her boy. Everyone would know the reason for the Queens traveling to Midgard.

Frigga could not yet bring herself to forgive her husband for such cruelty, especially when she saw how Loki struggled and suffered, and how he begged after her almost constantly, not understanding, not knowing why she had seemingly abandoned him in a strange and hostile world.

And then there loomed over all what Frigga at times feared most.

Loki was anything but dull. He was, in truth, blisteringly, even intimidatingly smart. He already knew Thor was hiding something vital from him. She could see it in the looks of doubt and concern in Loki's startlingly open face.

She knew it was only a matter of time before her youngest son reasoned out exactly what Thor's secret was, and when he did...

Oh, Norns, she did not want to imagine how her beautiful child would react.

Her son, who was again of such gentle and frail nature, of such open and trusting heart...

She remembers times in his childhood when she would find him sitting there, with a look of such woeful and fearful contemplation etched into his young features. A look so unnatural on a child, a deep set melancholy which seemed at times to consume him. Remembers asking him what troubled him so, and always Loki would simply call a wavering smile to his face and look up at her, shaking his head, and assuring her all was well. Remembers cursing herself for each time she let him get away with such claims, and did nothing more to pursue him.

And she remembers just as distinctly the one time he actually gave her truth when she asked him, when he looked at her with such terror in his eyes, and asked her with a heartbreaking sincerity if he was evil.

Frigga had stared at him then, uncomprehending, a rush of anguish and fear and confusion washing through her at such speed, she felt nearly dizzy.

By the time she had recovered enough of herself to register her son's words and ask him why he would ask such a thing, Loki had had tears thick in his eyes, his chest heaving with overwhelming emotion, on the brink of powerful sobs.

He'd told her the other children had told him he was. Had chosen the fact of his oddities and difference as evidence to support such a theory. Used the fact he had no, real friends, telling him no one liked him because they could sense there was something wrong with him, something unnatural. Told him that the existence of magic in his blood made him wrong and repulsive.

It had taken Frigga the better part of an hour to calm her son, she recalls, and still, he had sat clinging to her, his breath ragged and harsh, face buried against her shoulder.

He hadn't ever recovered. Not truly. Though it wasn't simply that one moment to have turned him to such sadness. He had, she knows, already been there a long time.

She knows, objectively, that this is her husband's intention. That he holds some strange hope that, by returning Loki to a place of innocence, and sending him away from the place which by all evidence had led him down such a path of darkness, he may find a chance to begin anew. To become the man he had shown such promise of becoming when he was yet young enough not to be touched by others cruelty.

But Frigga knows it is not the way.

That allowing their youngest child to believe he has been abandoned by his mother and father, no matter how well their intentions, will only lead further to his pain and suffering, drenched in unyielding confusion.

She must go to him, she knows.

She knows she must go to her son. And she will. By the Norns, if it is her last, true act, she will find a way to go to Loki.


	13. Chapter 13

Tony can't help but smirk, a swell of unchecked pride rising up in his chest as he watches Loki walk forward, eyes wide as saucers, mouth hung open in plain wonder and awe as his head turns left and right, taking in the sight of the lab.

The kid looks positively overwhelmed, and something about knowing that it was him who'd managed to give that to him makes Tony feel oddly warm inside.

It had been a bit of a struggle, getting Loki to trust that it was safe to go into the lab, and that had conjured so many feelings of almost suffocating guilt on Tony's part, that for a moment, he'd had to turn away from the kid and compose himself, feeling dangerously on the edge of weepy.

He hadn't ever meant for the boy to get hurt. It had just been a precaution, a piece of tech he'd been fooling around with in case Loki or some other crazed, magical villain came along, half expecting the thing to never work anyway because... magic.

Except if and/or when Loki came back, Tony had expected the full grown, manic, evil version, not shorty sweet-cheeks. 

After Tony's initial burst of surprise and then, guilty feelings again, pride when JARVIS had informed him and the team that the magical neutralizer was, in fact, working, and working well, he'd been hit by what felt like a freight train when JARVIS had gone on to explain just exactly what it was doing to Loki.

Kid or no, Tony hadn't wanted, nor designed it, to actually hurt anybody. But that's what he got, he supposes, for fucking around with something he really didn't understand.

The fact that Loki had been so traumatized by it that it left him terrified of going into the place where it had happened only added to Tony's sense of choking remorse.

It had taken nearly ten minutes of coaxing then on his part before he was able to convince the kid that nothing bad was going to happen.

Tony had to wonder what it was Loki had felt when the neutralizer had kicked in. Whatever it was, it must have been agonizing.

He'd spoken to Thor about it, only briefly that morning, when he'd gone to ask him and Steve if it was alright to take Loki around the lab. Thor, understandably, had been pissed at him, and not in his usual jovial, talkative mood.

He'd glared at Tony with thunderous, threatening eyes, massive arms crossed over his equally massive chest.

“You understand naught in the ways of magic, Tony Stark.” He'd said, voice low and full of menace. “'Tis not a tool, not a thing acquired or won. Magic is my brother's very life's blood. It runs deep and vital in his veins. Without it, he would perish. To draw it from him, as somehow you managed, would be akin to drawing the very breath from his lungs and leaving them empty. You say in your ignorant manner he “has” magic.” Thor had shaken his head, disgusted. “Your wording is mistaken. Loki has no magic. Loki is magic. He is made of it, as the greater majority of your body is made from water. If you ever again attempt to tamper with him in such a way, I warn you Tony Stark, I cannot be held accountable for my actions.”

Tony had smiled his glib, lazy grin, patting Thor on his brick wall of a shoulder and saying he understood.

He didn't know how he'd held it together in that moment, considering he'd been this close to shitting his pants. But, whatever...

Tony had told JARVIS to shut the neutralizer down less than an hour after the incident had happened, and he wasn't planning on activating it again anytime soon. Not unless he needed to.

He walks just behind Loki now, watching the kid's reactions to everything.

Already his curiosity seems to have won over his initial fear as he moves from area to area, looking with unwavering intentness at everything he sees. A few times, Tony catches him reaching out to touch, before quickly drawing his hands back to himself.

“You can touch.” Tony tells him gently. “I'll let you know if anything should be left alone.”

Meaning any sort of weaponry, which, honestly, there's a lot of down here. But it's all got safety switches, and Tony doesn't think it should be too dangerous.

With his permission, it's like a dam is broken, and Loki is then running amok, reaching out and picking up nearly every thing he comes across, turning it over and over in his hands, examining it with awe filled excitement and curiosity, asking so many questions all at once that Tony hardly has one answer out before the next is coming at him. And not just simple, kid questions. This kid is smart, like, scary smart. Every thing he asks about, it's like he's already figured out completely how it works. Even tech he's apparently never seen or heard of, he grasps the concepts of with blinding quickness, and he never asks Tony to repeat himself or explain anything in a dumbed down tone.

Tony, for his part, can hardly believe the extraordinary relief he feels at it. It's so rare that he comes across anyone able to grasp his language or the concepts in his head, Bruce being an exception. Most of the time, people stop him ten seconds in to any explanation he's giving and tell him to “speak English”. Tony's gotten better at covering up his irritation, but still, it drives him up a wall.

To then have this little kid, who, okay, maybe he's actually really old, but he looks like he's seven, just... get it on the first go, who asks not just questions, but intelligent questions, and makes observations about things Tony hadn't even gone into... 

It's fucking cool. That's what it is. Tony feels suddenly like he's found his ultimate partner in science crime. And, okay, that's probably not the best analogy to use about Loki but, still, it's fucking cool.

“You built all of this?” Loki asks, currently holding a Starkpad in his hands, having, it seems, already figured out how it works, which is... kind of scary, but the farthest thing from surprising.

“Pretty much.” Tony answers, taking a seat on one of his rolling chairs, giving himself a whirl.

“... It is remarkable.” Loki goes on after a moment in that too adult way of speaking that he has. “You are a great smith.”

Tony laughs at that, unable to help it.

“A smith, huh? Yeah, I guess I could be called that. Though I don't really do the whole anvil and hammer thing.”

Loki looks over at him, an expression of confusion and curiosity on his young face.

“... Are you...” he starts, then stops, looking down.

Tony frowns, his stomach doing an unpleasant flip. 

“What?” He asks, oddly worried.

“... You are allowed to... to create, without hindrance or d-derision?”

Tony blinks, taken aback by the question, not fully understanding.

“Uh, yeah.” He says. “Of course. I'm my own boss, after all.”

Loki continues to fiddle around with the Starkpad a few moments longer, seeming engrossed, before he says...

“Your creations are mathematics’s based, yes? You rely on numbers?”

Tony smiles. He can't get over the way this kid talks.

“Largely, yeah.” He answers. “It helps to have exact equations. I've always kinda been a whizkid at numbers and stuff.”

Loki keeps his face turned down towards the pad, though Tony can tell he isn't playing with it anymore.

“... I too am good with numbers.” He says quietly after a moment. Only he says it almost like he's ashamed, and Tony feels that same sick worry in the pit of his stomach.

“That doesn't surprise me.” He answers, trying to sound cheerful. “You like math?”

Loki looks up at him finally, his eyes overly bright.

“A-aye, very much.” He says. “I... M-Master Illian says I am well advanced f... for my age, and that she should like to move me to a more s-sophisticated class.”

“Well hey, that's great!” Tony exclaims. “When I was a kid, my teachers all said the same thing. Except I always was getting into trouble because I was bored. They finally figured out it was because their material was too easy for me.”

Loki looks away then, fidgeting again with the pad.

“... The other s-student's say... say it's bad.” He says, so softly, Tony barely catches it. “They say I'm trying purposefully to degrade them and m-make them seem less than me.”

Tony can't help it as he scoffs loudly, rolling his eyes.

Of course they say that to Loki. He remembers his own classmates saying the same bullshit to him. Nobody likes you when they know you're smarter than they are.

“B-but I'm not!” Loki suddenly says emphatically. “I'm not trying to make them f-feel lesser! I can't... I can't help it that I just k-know things. I don't mean to show off...”

“Loki, buddy,” Tony puts his hands up, trying to calm him down. “the problem isn't yours. It's theirs. They're jealous of you because they know you're smarter than they are.”

Loki blinks up at him, seeming shocked at Tony's words.

“... That's what Mother says.” He says quietly after a moment. “An... and Thor says... he says they're just jealous because I'm a prince and they aren't and that I sh-should just ignore them. And I... I try to. I do, but... they... they...”

Tony already knows what Loki is going to say. He knows the damned story too well himself not to. Had gone through the exact same thing too many times.

“They beat you up, right?” Tony finishes for him, and he sees Loki's eyes well suddenly with tears, slipping a moment later down his pale cheeks as he nods his head, wiping clumsily at his face.

“Fuck em'.” He blurts, and Loki's eyes go wide, staring up at him with a plainly shocked expression. “They're just insecure little nothings who are mad because you're special and they're not. You have something they never will, and in their limited brain capacity, they think they can take it from you by smacking you around. Well, news flash for them, they can't. Nobody can take away what you've got Loki. That's yours. It's all you. And you should be proud. Flaunt that shit in their faces. Remind 'em every day that you're amazing and better, and they're just plain old normal. Normal nothings who'll never create or contribute anything of any import to the world they live in. They can hit you all they want, as hard as they want, but nothing is ever going to change that truth.”

Loki blinks back at him for several, long seconds, seeming speechless, and Tony worries suddenly that maybe he's gone too far. Probably he shouldn't have gone with the cursing. Loki had probably never heard that kind of language in his life, or... well, at least not this version of Loki.

But then Loki looks away, putting the Starkpad back where he'd found it and wrapping his arms about himself.

“... I don't want to be better than anyone though.” He says in a voice hardly even a whisper. “I just want them to like me.”

Tony feels like he's just been punched in the gut.

Here he was, all ready for his self-affirming speech to lift Loki up out of his rut and give him a much needed confidence boost, something which was growing all the more obvious to Tony the more time he spent around this kid.

Instead, as usual, he'd seemed only to make everything worse.

He sighs, pulling himself back together and stepping towards Loki, crouching down so that he's a little taller than eye level with him.

“You don't need 'em to like you though kiddo. If they're so mean to you, why do you even care what they think?”

Loki shrugs, not looking up at Tony.

“... They like Thor.” He finally says, voice wavering noticeably. “Everyone likes Thor.”

Well, that was true.

Thor was hard not to like. He was such an affable guy, with charisma for days, and, saying it as a decidedly straight man, fucking gorgeous to boot. Tony didn't think he'd ever seen a more perfect physical specimen, man or woman.

Fuck, he was no good at this. 

He'd never known how to give pep talks, let alone to a magical alien boy god... thing. God, he wished Pepper was here. In fact, he thinks, maybe he should call Pepper and tell her to come over...

He's jarred from his thoughts by the sound of sniffling, and looking down, he realizes Loki is crying again.

“Hey, hey now, what's this?” He starts.

“... I d-d-don't know why I'm h-here.” Loki stammers out, sobbing openly now. “I w-want... want my Mo-Mother and Father. And... and Thor w-won't... he won't tell me wh-what's happened. I know s-something has. I know it, and he w-won't tell me though...”

Okay, fuck... fuckety fuck fuck... Tony is so not equipped to handle this, he thinks, his mind racing, a sudden feeling of panic swelling up in his chest.

He swallows thickly against it.

“... What do you think's happened?” He asks, trying his best to sound confused. 

Loki shakes his head, wiping at his eyes.

“I don't know.” He sobs again, and he sounds absolutely terrified now. “S-something bad. Thor won't tell me wh-why he's g-grown now. And... and this realm is ss-so different than how I r-remember, and I don't unders-stand how it could be, and...”

“Okay, okay, let's just...” Tony starts, trying to press down his own panic, eyes searching frantically over the lab, looking for something, anything to help get him out of this. 

This is why he isn't good with children. Hell, he can't handle regular, human kids, let alone a mythical Norse god child. He never knows what to say, what to do.

“Look, how about...” his eyes light then on the door leading to the sealed chamber where he keeps his suites. “I'll, uh, I'll talk to Thor for you. Okay?”

Finally, that seems to catch Loki's attention, the kid still crying openly, but at last looking up at Tony with wide, painfully hopeful eyes.

“You will?” He asks, voice all watery and sniffy and God, why does Tony feel like such an asshole all of a sudden?

He forces a smile onto his face, nodding.

“Sure will buddy. I'll give him a chat, see what he says. Don't worry so much. I'm sure everything's gonna be fine.”

Loki wipes at his face, staring intently at him, and fuck, he knows Tony's lying, he can see it in the kid's eyes, that he knows.

Tony holds still, waiting for the explosion of snot and tears and wailing. Only...

It never comes.

Instead Loki just looks away, sniffling a little more, but beginning suddenly to calm, his sobs fading. 

“I'm sorry.” He says after a moment, almost too softly to hear. “I... I've made a spectacle of myself. I k-know... I know such isn't princely behavior. If you'll forgive me...”

Tony blinks, staring at the kid in disbelief.

“Uh,” he starts, confused and taken aback. “No, it's... it's alright. You didn't do anything wrong. You don't need to apologize.”

“... F-Father says... Father says I am to conduct myself with p-pride and... and dignity. He s-says I have an undes... undesirable tendency to become overly sensitive and that... that I should discipline my... my em-emotions more soundly.”

Of course, Tony thinks bitterly, unable to repress his mouth twisting into disgust. He can hear his own father's voice echoing in his memories even now, telling him to stop acting like a child, stop embarrassing him, stop making trouble, be better, be more, you aren't doing good enough Tony, you aren't doing it right Tony...

“Kid...” he starts, breathing in deeply, trying to remind himself to stay calm. “Just... it's alright. It's alright to cry. You're in a strange world you don't really know anything about and... and things aren't like you thought they were supposed to be, and nobody's really giving you any answers. I'd be scared too.”

Loki glances up at him, his eyes red, face stained with drying tears.

Tony tries smiling, though he knows the effort is weak.

“I promise you, I really will talk to your brother. And I mean it when I say everything's going to work out. I'll... I'll do everything I can to make sure that happens.”

A few more stray tears escape out of the kid's eyes, slipping silently down his pale cheeks.

“... You are a man of honor, Tony Starkson.” He says quietly.

Tony shrugs, feeling uncomfortable.

“I don't know about that.” He says glibly, laughing. 

Loki's expression remains serious and too knowing on him.

“Hey, how about I show you my suites now?” Tony tries, wanting abruptly and almost desperately to steer away from... whatever it is that just happened.

“Your suites?” Loki asks, a tone of confused and genuine interest in his voice.

Tony can't help grinning, a sudden excitement taking hold of him. He loves showing off, and he knows if anyone can appreciate the miracle of engineering that his suites are, this kid will.

“Yeah,” he says. “you're gonna love 'em. Come on, follow me.”

He stands, holding his hand out to Loki.

The boy hesitates a moment, staring at the offered hand for long seconds.

And then he takes it, his own tiny hand engulfed in Tony's palm, Loki's skin strangely dry and soft as he squeezes lightly back.

He trusts him, Tony thinks dizzily. This kid trusts him, without having any real reason to.

Well then, he's just going to have to give him a reason, Tony determines.

If he can't do that, then what good is his trying to be a hero anyway?


	14. Chapter 14

Clint feels himself freeze as he's walking through the entry to the kitchen, his entire body winding viciously tight, a kind of awful numbing sensation trickling down to the tips of his fingers.

Loki is there, sitting on the counter, watching Steve cook dinner.

His legs don't even reach past the middle of the cabinets below him, the heels of his small feet kicking gently against the wood.

He looks so innocent, and Clint can't help the way his stomach clenches uncomfortably, a swell of nausea threatening at its pit.

He'd talked to Nat. Called her almost immediately after Steve had brought Loki here.

She'd told him she didn't think Loki was faking it. That she'd talked to him face to face for the better part of half an hour, and that she'd found no sign, no tell that he was lying.

He'd argued that Loki was called the "god of lies", and if anyone could pull one over on her, it was him. She'd agreed, but had insisted still that she didn't think this was false.

This. That Loki was, somehow, a little kid, that he didn't remember what he'd done, that he couldn't be held accountable anymore because of that?!

Stark was already treating the little bastard like he was his own son, Steve and Thor both just as protective, just as sure that Loki wasn't just stringing them along, waiting for the right moment to strike and probably murder all of them in their sleep.

The only other one who seemed even remotely reluctant still was Bruce, not because he doubted Loki's being a child though, simply because the whole situation was stressing him out, leaving him to isolate more from the team than was even usual.

That left Clint looking like the world's biggest asshole because, why? Because sorry, he didn't trust the kid?

None of them had had Loki inside their head the way he had. None of them knew... knew just how messed up Thor's crazy as fuck little brother was.

And maybe that was what was bothering Clint most of all.

He wanted to hate Loki.

Loki, who last time Clint had seen him, was bound and gagged and beaten, and being taken off to Asgard by Thor for punishment.

Loki, who had smashed his way into Clint's head, had taken over his thoughts, his actions, had made him... made him kill people. Made him kill his colleagues, his friends.

Loki, who's head Clint had also seen the inside of, and he remembers flashes of pain and terror and despair so profound, there had been moments when he had found himself bowled over in blinding panic and nausea and a gut-wrenching hopelessness, emotions not his own, he'd somehow known, but Loki's.

Loki, who he remembered had been gaunt and weak and almost constantly sick, who Clint, his only purpose then to make certain of his boss' health, his well-being, and the accomplishment of his goals, had felt unceasingly worried for, always trying to convince Loki relax, to take a break, to rest...

"You aren't going to be able to do much of anything out there Sir, not if you're too exhausted to even stand." He remembered saying. And Loki, he remembered too, had just smiled at him, a horrible smile, which didn't reach his eyes, and spoke more of resignation and sadness than anything other, had reached out and put his hand on Clint's shoulder, giving a light squeeze, and telling him he was a good man.

Remembered too how he'd been ready, so ready, to tell Loki everything, about everyone. Not just the Avengers, not just about his team, about Nat. He'd been ready to tell him about Laura and the kids. Ready to tell him where they lived, who they were. Ready to do anything to them Loki told him to.

He remembered that Loki hadn't asked him to tell him anything about his family. Hadn't told him to do anything to them.

Clint hated himself still for feeling grateful to Loki for that. For still feeling grateful.

Just liked he hated himself for wondering, for doubting that Loki was anything other than a piece of shit who deserved every bad thing that happened to him.

He wanted to hate Loki, to despise him and feel real satisfaction in his defeat, and in what he'd hoped had been a cruel and awful punishment. He wanted to.

But every moment, every instant he'd felt himself near to that emotion, whenever he thought of the lives of the men he'd taken under Loki's command, he would remember a feeling, a memory of Loki's he'd inadvertently been exposed to. Images and sounds and smells so real it was like he was right there, flashing in his mind.

A naked, animal fear, the taste of blood thick on his tongue, the smell of shit and piss and vomit filling his nostrils, the feel of his stomach shriveling and shrinking in on itself from starvation, and beatings so violent, so cruel, they left him paralyzed and ruined for days, unable to move even to relieve himself, and that was where the smell of excrement had come from, Clint realized sickeningly.

All that overlain with a hopelessness and self-loathing so deep it had, at times, left Clint gasping for breath.

Loki had been tortured.

Clint hadn't told anyone that, hadn't even hinted at what he knew. He'd kept his mouth shut out of stubborn anger and a thirst for revenge. He hadn't been proud of that, but he'd told himself it was justified.

And then he would think of Nat.

Would think of the thing's she'd done, the lives she'd taken, the lives she'd destroyed, because she'd been trained and conditioned to do just that since she herself had been a little girl.

And yet he'd given her a second chance. He'd given her the benefit of the doubt.

He sometimes wondered if Nat had killed someone he cared about, someone he knew, would he still have given her that chance? Would he have allowed her to become the hero she was now?

It was easy, Clint knew, to label people. To call someone evil and be done with it. To just assume, because they'd done something horrible, that they would never be capable of being better, or doing good. People spoke of rehabilitation and redemption all the time, but all most of them were really interested in was revenge and having someone to focus all of their own fears and hatreds and prejudices against. They were so eager to do it, in fact, that a lot of people, a lot of good people, never got the chance to prove that they were.

Nat was one of those good people. She had a good heart.

But if Clint hadn't made that different call, hadn't given her that chance, no one would have ever known it. They would have just seen her as a cold hearted killer that needed to be put down. As a child murderer.

It made Clint sick then, to realize for Loki he'd allowed himself to become a hypocrite. Because of his own, personal stake in it all. Because he'd felt hurt. It had been easy to dismiss Nat's deeds, because they hadn't been committed against him, or against anyone he knew.

He can see Loki there, grown to a towering 6'2", lean as a whippet, face gaunt and drawn, eyes heavy and thick with indescribable exhaustion, skin so pale it was almost translucent. Can... can hear Loki inside his head. Can hear him... can hear his voice, thin and fractured and laden with fear, whimpering and begging someone... begging them to stop, to let him go... begging for Thor, for Mama and Papa and... Jesus Christ, Clint can't do this.

He'd felt it then. Felt how much pain Loki was in. How deeply he'd been suffering. To the point that, there came moments when Clint would wake from his own sleep, gasping and drenched in sweat, his heart hammering so hard against his ribs he was certain it would burst, a blinding terror gripping his mind, the most ominous dread and certainty that someone was there and they were coming for him... they were going to come and take him away again and... and... if he failed, they would...

And that was what had left Clint with so much rage. That he should be allowed to hate Loki, to want to kill him for what he'd done, and yet... he couldn't. Not really.

Looking at Loki now, sitting there, this little boy, Clint can hardly reconcile it with what he remembers Loki looking like.

Loki had been thin, even painfully so, Clint recalls easily. But there had never been any doubt, just to take a single glance at him, that he was powerfully, terrifyingly strong. Clint had known it the moment he had seen him, the awful reality of it only driven further home when he'd made the absurd attempt to counter the god and Loki had caught his arm and held it there as easily as he would a toddler's.

And then he thinks back to the other day, when he'd panicked and grabbed hold of Loki, certain it was some sort of attack, that he'd somehow brainwashed Steve, and Loki had torn out of his grip, the momentum of his strength pulling Clint to his knees...

He may have looked like a little kid, maybe he even was one, if Nat was right, but that didn't mean he wasn't still dangerous.

Loki turns his head suddenly then, his gaze landing on Clint, his absurdly verdant eyes seeming too large for his pale white face, and Clint watches them widen with naked, overwhelming fear, a quiet, sharp gasp slipping past his pale lips.

In an instant, he's slipped from the counter top and is running, pressing himself into a corner of the room, eyes fixed big and distrustful upon Clint, arms wrapped in a pitiful shell around himself, as if that will protect him.

"Clint..." Steve's voice pulls his eyes from Loki, and he sees Steve glaring at him, clear warning in his stance.

"What?!" He asks defensively. "What? I didn't do anything even!"

"Don't try and scare him." Steve answers, unconvinced.

"I'm not! Jeez, all I did was come in. You're the one that invited me to dinner, remember?"

That seems to soften Steve a little, his stance relaxing.

"You're right. I did. And thank you for coming. Can you be okay with sharing a table with him?" He nods towards Loki, who's still got his eyes fixed on Clint, still looking terrified.

"I'm not gonna put a fork through his eye, if that's what you're asking." Clint says flatly, and the disapproving look is right back on Steve's face.

"Seriously man..." Steve says.

"Alright, alright!" Clint puts his hands up. "I'll behave."

The Captain eyes him suspiciously for a moment, before looking to Loki and calling him over.

Clint has to work not to roll his eyes, only feeling slightly uncomfortable as Loki finally peels himself away from the corner he's pressed himself into, making his way back over to Steve, still shooting wary glances at Clint.

"Loki," Steve starts, crouching down and putting an arm round the kid's shoulders. "I know you two didn't get off to the best start,"

No shit Sherlock, Clint thinks.

"but Clint isn't going to hurt you. He's actually a really good guy. Alright?"

Loki gives a vague nod, his gaze fixed now to the floor.

Clint sighs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and cursing his shitty luck.

"Relax kid, I'm not gonna hurt you." He finally grinds out.

Loki is holding onto Steve's pant leg now, and Clint can see him shaking from where he's standing.

He won't look up, frozen, saying nothing.

"Man, whatever." Clint grumbles, moving into the kitchen and pulling out a chair at the dining table, flopping down into it.

If Loki ended up trying to kill all of them, Clint wasn't going to hesitate to say "I told you so.".

/

Dinner is awkward, to say the least.

It's just Clint, Steve, Tony... and Loki.

Nat is off on her mission still, and Thor was off visiting Jane for a couple days. Bruce was hiding in his rooms.

Clint tries to ignore everyone as he digs into his food, irritated by the way Steve and Tony keep talking to Loki. Irritated more by how he keeps catching Loki glancing at him. Every time he looks back, the kid looks quickly away, seeming intimidated.

Clint has the urge to do something mean. To growl at him or something and scare the shit out of him. But he doesn't. Steve will just chew him out and he really doesn't feel like dealing with Mr. Perfect right now.

Loki is quiet too, answering Steve's and Tony's chatter with monosyllabic replies, his voice seeming barely audible. If Clint didn't know any better, he'd say the kid sounded depressed, but Steve and Tony weren't seeming to get the message.

Clint finds himself on the verge of snapping at Loki after the kid looks at him for what must be the tenth time, telling him that if he's got something to say then he better just say it.

Loki beats him to it though, his little voice coming out, nervous and unsure.

"You're... y-you're a great archer, y-yes?" He asks, and Clint looks back at him, his own mind going blank for a moment.

Loki looks frightened, and full of doubt, his eyes casting away.

"F-friend Tony tells me so. I thought... well, I thought perhaps, though I s-suppose 'tiss foolish of me."

The kid's voice trails off, and Clint only continues staring at him, still trying to get over the fact that Loki was actually talking to him.

"It's okay Loki. Go on. Finish what you were gonna say." Steve encourages him.

Loki fidgets a moment with his napkin, hesitating for long seconds, before he starts talking again.

"I th-thought, well, Thor h-has... has been helping me to learn the proper technique in which to handle a... a bow. He... he was, anyway. I'm not... I'm not very good with a b-broad sword, is the f-fact of it. It... It's too heavy for... for me. Even the w-wooden practice swords the students use and so... so Thor thought I would be better with a bow and arrow but... my progress has been... has been slow, I fear. Even in that discipline I seem to be lacking. But I... I thought, perhaps, if... if you wish it, you might... might give me some instruction?"

Clint stares, unsure for a moment what it is he's hearing.

"... I'm sorry, what?" He finally manages.

Loki looks ridiculously nervous, playing now with his food and seeming unable to look up at him.

"He wants to know if you'll give him archery instructions Clint." Tony supplies bluntly, with his usual sarcastic bent.

Clint glares at him a moment.

"I understood what he meant dumb ass." He snaps back.

"Then why'd you ask him what?" Tony returns, giving him a shit eating grin which Clint wants to slap right off his face.

"I just..." Clint starts again, glancing back at Loki, who's slender shoulders are now hunched, his body so tense it looks like he might explode at any second. "I don't think that's a great idea."

"Why not?" Tony again. "I think it's a great idea! You and kid get some bonding time, little britches learns a new, super cool skill, you get to talk to someone smarter than you. Sounds like a win/win to me."

"Tony, come on." Steve says, sounding exasperated. "Clint, look, I..." he glances quickly at Loki, seeming to try and pick his words carefully, and Clint can feel his hand gripping his fork too tightly, his own body winding with tension. "I know you're busy lately." Cap goes on. "But... with Thor away, and the rest of us always being on call, Loki doesn't... he doesn't have many people to talk to... it would be really good for him to have an activity like archery."

"Not really an activity Cap." Clint shoots back quickly, trying to sound bored. "Kid could take an eye out if he's not careful."

Okay, so that wasn't a very subtle threat, and the death glare Steve is giving him tells him it went over exactly nobody's head.

"I'm serious Clint. Help Loki out."

"He... he doesn't have to." Loki's voice cuts through them suddenly, quiet and high pitched. Christ, it's not even close to breaking yet.

"If... if he doesn't wish to. I... I don't want to im-impose."

"You're not imposing Loki. Clint's happy to help, aren't you Clint?" Tony supplies.

"Nope." Clint snaps back.

"Clint." Steve's voice is stern, even pissed.

Clint grinds his teeth.

He can't believe this shit. He really can't.

"You want me to take him down to the archery range and show him how to shoot? You want him handling weapons now?" He says, not even trying to hide his anger.

"He's just a kid Clint." Steve replies, just as angry.

"So you keep saying." Clint answers back.

"Why're you such a dick man?" Tony asks, all joviality suddenly gone from his voice. "The kid just wants to hang out with you."

"I don't know man, maybe because, unlike the rest of you dumb-asses, I actually remember what he fucking did!" Clint shouts.

"Clint..." Steve starts, but Clint's had it, talking over the captain.

"No man, no. The rest of you act like he's just some poor, cute, lost little kid, all the while just conveniently forgetting that he fucking blew up half of downtown Manhatt..."

"CLINT!" Steve's voice raises loudly enough to cut him off, filled with a rage Clint can't recall ever having heard in him before.

He stops, blinking at the captain confusedly a moment.

"Be quiet." Steve tells him firmly, shaking his head. "Just... shut up. Right now."

And Clint sees then what has the cap so upset.

It's Loki.

The kid's huddled down in his chair, arms wrapped round himself, food forgotten entirely.

He's crying, but he isn't making a sound. Just silent tears running down his pale face, turned away from them all, his small body shaking like a leaf.

And Clint can't help it.

He feels bad.

He feels fucking bad.

Christ, he hadn't meant...

"Loki," Steve's trying to get his attention now, putting a hand on the kid's back. "Loki, it's alright. Hey..."

But Loki just shakes his head, not looking at any of them, before he slides silently from his chair and runs from the room.

"... Way to go dickface." Tony says after a moment.

Steve can only give him a disappointed frown, shaking his head, before he too stands from his chair, following after Loki.


	15. Chapter 15

It doesn't take Steve long to find Loki, despite the hiding spot being a well chosen utility closet.

It was the sniffling which gave him away, Steve thinks, as he pulls open the door and finds Loki pressed into the corner, balled up, his knees against his chest and face pressed atop them.

"Hey there kiddo." Steve says softly, kneeling down beside him.

Loki doesn't look up at him.

"... I wanna go home." He hears the kid say, his voice small and muffled and teary.

Steve sighs, feeling helpless and stupid. He reaches out, putting an arm around Loki's shoulders.

"I know Loki. I know you do."

Another, long minute of silence stretches, and Loki sits stiff and trembling beneath his arm.

"What did I do?" He whispers eventually.

Steve starts, taken aback.

"... You didn't..." he starts, but Loki cuts him off.

"Don't lie to me." He says, and despite his childish voice, he sounds in that moment disconcertingly mature.

Steve freezes, unsure of what to say. He should have known better than that, he thinks. Should have known he couldn't keep lying to the kid. He was plainly too smart for that.

"You think me simple because I am a child." Loki goes on then. "I can assure you I am not. You perhaps forget too that I am of royal lineage, and that I possess a greater insight into the workings of government and leadership than most. My father and mother both are the rulers of the most powerful kingdom in all the Nine Realms, and I am a prince. I've used your internet to conduct research on myself and my relation to your world, but have found naught but silly folktales and superstitious lore which bears no resemblance whatever to my actual person or existence."

At last Loki lifts his face from his knees, looking up at Steve, his eyes red and face streaked with tears from crying.

"You know me. All of you. From some time, and some place, we've all met before. Your American government has done well to keep knowledge of me from public view. I readily recognize such tactics. My own father and his close council make such vital decisions each day. There are certain things the public citizens of any kingdom cannot and should not know. I understand that. But do not... do not continue to lie to me. Tell me what it is I have done. I have no memory of ever knowing any of you, and yet I recognize easily that you all know me, and know nothing good of me. My brother too is well reached past the age of his majority, when in my last memories of him, he is barely older than I. Tell me. Tell me where you know me from."

Steve stares back at Loki, and he knows he must look ridiculous, with his mouth hanging open and a stunned expression across his face. But he can't help it. He hadn't... Jesus, he hadn't been expecting... that. He knew Loki was smart, knew there was every possibility of him eventually figuring out something wasn't right, but...

Not like this, not so soon.

He doesn't know what to do suddenly, with the boy staring up at him, both with so much determination and desperation in his eyes. Steve can't lie to him, that's clear. If he even tries, he has no doubt Loki will catch him in it immediately, and then whatever trust he'd managed to build between them will just crumble. But he can't... God, he can't tell him the truth either. If Loki knew, if he knew any of it, it would crush him. Steve doesn't even know what kind of damage it would cause.

The kid is nothing... nothing like the man they'd all met.

The Loki they knew, he'd been completely insane. Mad with rage, tyrannical and delusional.

This Loki, he's just about the sweetest, smartest, kindest kid Steve has ever met.

He doesn't know what to do.

"Loki," he starts, grasping for something, anything he can tell the boy without completely devastating him. "you're right. Okay. We do know you, from before."

Loki doesn't look the least bit surprised by the confession, his expression hardly changing, except to turn more fully to Steve. His eyes are huge and glassy, tears still standing clearly in them. He's expecting Steve to go on.

Steve shakes his head, his heart hammering unpleasantly inside his chest.

He wonders what Thor would do, if he revealed the whole truth to Loki right now.

It doesn't feel right keeping it from the kid. It doesn't feel right telling him the whole of it either.

"Your Dad, he... he made you a kid again, somehow." Steve stammers out. "You were an adult when we met you... before."

Finally Loki's expression changes, his eyes filling with a kind of overwhelming shock, his lips parting in surprise. His small hands bury in the material of his pants, anxious and scared. But he doesn't say anything. Just keeps staring at Steve, expecting the rest.

Again, Steve shakes his head, not knowing what else to say. How to say it without just putting it bluntly.

"... My father wouldn't..." Loki starts, and his voice is tiny and trembling. "not unless... not unless I had done something truly awful. He would not steal my years away, my memories..."

"Loki, look..." Steve tries, but Loki shakes his head hard, the tears in his eyes finally slipping free, down his cheeks.

"Why would he..." he says. "why would he and th-then... then send me here, a... alone? Why would he?"

"Loki," Steve again tries, putting his hands up, trying to calm the kid down. He already feels like he's lost control of the situation.

Abruptly Loki stands, stepping back from Steve.

"Why would he?" He demands again. "You know. Tell me why." He wipes the heels of his palms against his eyes, the tears refusing to stop.

"I can't." Steve says, and he feels so useless, feels like a horrible person, even as the words leave his lips. "Loki, I can't."

"Why?!" Loki nearly shouts, his whole body trembling viciously. "Have I done something truly so terrible?"

"It isn't..." Steve starts, then stops. He's lost. Completely lost as to how to deal with this. Thor should be the one to explain this to Loki. Not him. And it's too soon anyway. The kid just... he only just arrived here, and he shouldn't have to learn yet what it is he did, why he's been cast out of his own home, robbed of his very memories.

"I am banished." Loki says suddenly, and there's so much grief in his voice, Steve feels his own eyes sting. "I've been cast out. My family... my family abandons me..." he trails off, turning suddenly away, and his whole form just seems to... crumple.

"Loki, no." Steve reaches out, hesitating only a moment before putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "No, your family hasn't abandoned you. Listen, Thor's here, isn't he? And he'll... he'll explain all this to you. I just... I don't feel it's my place to tell you myself. The truth is... it's complicated, and I'm afraid I would mess it up somehow. Loki, come on..."

"I thought you a brave warrior." Loki says, his voice almost a whisper. "But you act the coward now."

Steve starts, his hand falling away, actual hurt blooming inside him.

"... Loki."

"I'd... I'd like to go back to my room now Steve, if it... if it pleases you."

"Loki, come on. Don't be like this. I'm only... I'm only trying to protect you."

Loki doesn't respond to that, only his arms coming up and wrapping about himself like he's cold.

"Loki, please." Steve tries again.

"I'd like to go back to my room now." Is the boy's only response, his tone flat and emotionless.

And Steve knows then he's screwed up.

Damn it, he thinks helplessly. He's just made things worse, he thinks.

"Loki," he says, voice hesitating as he struggles within himself, frightened and unsure. "I can... if you need me to tell you, I... I will." He forces the words out, not knowing at all if this is even close to the right choice.

Loki stands still a moment, before finally turning, looking up at him without expression, and Steve wonders dimly how a kid so young can have so much control over their features.

"Tell me then." Loki says, his voice equally blank.

Steve hesitates again, a thousand worst case scenarios running through his mind, the consequences of what this will bring.

But Loki won't stop looking at him now, his gaze unsettling in its penetration.

A moment later, and Steve finds himself talking. Telling the boy everything he knows.

/

"Good Volstagg." Frigga greets as the large man's door opens, and he stands there, staring down at her with a truly bewildered expression.

He seems to remember himself after a moment, scrambling as he dips into a clumsy bow, crossing his fist over his chest.

"M-my Queen!" He stammers, and Frigga smiles lightly.

She cannot blame him for his flustered state.

It isn't every day the Queen of Asgard comes out from the palace and into the common grounds of the people.

"At ease, good Volstagg." Frigga relieves him, and he hastily stands, waiting.

She's always liked Volstagg. Almost entirely for the very reason she's come today to see him, that being, that out of all of Thor's friends, he had always been the kindest to Loki.

Being older than all of them, even, he had used to serve as a kind of nanny for Loki, when her son's regular caretakers, for whatever reason, had been unavailable.

He had never failed in his duties of keeping Loki safe and well looked after in those times, and Frigga herself had been witness to the man's interactions with her young son, had seen the way he doted on and spent time with Loki, in a way no one else beyond herself and Thor ever really did. Loki had always seemed happier and more at ease around the big man than around Thor's other companions. Quicker to smile, to even laugh, as a child should.

Even as Loki had matured and begun to grow distant and removed from most everyone around him, Volstagg had never spoken cruelly or disrespectfully to or about him, as so many others did. He treated Loki as he was meant to be treated, as his prince, and as a young boy who lacked few real friends and struggled deeply with any true belief in himself.

It was why, now, she sought him out.

She was going to Midgard, to be with her child, and, she thought, another familiar face would do to comfort Loki, as much as he could be comforted given the circumstances.

Thor was there with him also, she knew. But Thor was still so young himself, and despite how he had grown and matured over the last year, he still understood little in the ways of parenting, and, she knew too, that he had always had difficulties in understanding his little brother.

Volstagg was now a father of several children, and he knew perhaps better than ever how to serve as that figure to a lost and frightened little boy, as Loki now had to be.

So, he was going to accompany her to Midgard. She had decided.

"May I come in?" She asks now, still smiling, and she has to suppress a laugh at the way Volstagg nearly trips over himself in his hast to move aside.

"O-oh, of... of course my Queen!" He stutters. "Please, my home is y-yours!"

She nods to him in thanks as she moves past the threshold, into the house.

"Please, uh, w-won't you sit down my Queen." Volstagg carries on as he closes the door behind her, rushing forward then to pull out a seat at a nearby table.

Again, she nods at him, gladly taking the offered chair.

"Can I offer you something to eat or drink, my Queen?" He says, beginning to move towards the kitchen. "My wife is out at the moment, at the market. The children of course are attending their lessons. But I can gladly..."

Frigga puts up a hand, shaking her head, stopping him.

"That's quite alright, good Volstagg." She tells him. "My business here will be brief, my hope that you will be receptive to my command high. Please, sit."

She gestures to the other chair, and Volstagg complies, lowering his wide girth onto the chair.

Frigga takes a moment to contemplate how the rickety, wooden structure does not collapse under his weight, before bringing her eyes to his friendly face.

"What would my Queen ask of me?" Volstagg says. "I am, as ever, at your service."

Frigga smiles, bowing her head.

"'Tiss well to hear that Volstagg." She tells him. "For what I have to ask of you is no small thing. It will require you to be separated from your own family for a time."

She sees the slight hesitation pass over the big man's features for a moment, and she understands. Volstagg has always been, first and foremost, dedicated to his wife and children.

"I see." He answers after a moment. "Can you say for how long, my Queen?"

Frigga shakes her head, folding her hands in her lap.

"I cannot say, I am sorry."

Volstagg nods.

"Is the mission of a dangerous nature my Queen?" He asks carefully, and a vague feeling of guilt tugs at Frigga's heart. Of course Volstagg would ask that. In a society such as theirs, one seemingly constantly at war and in battle, it was only to be expected. There were many in Asgard, man and woman alike, who had lost loved ones.

"It is not." She is happy to report to him then, and she can see the relief in how Volstagg's shoulders slump. Not that he is a coward, she knows. Volstagg is anything but, one of the bravest and finest warrior's the realm has to boast, despite his fatness. But because it would be a heavy burden, to have to tell his family he was going away and he might not be returning.

"Volstagg," she begins, her voice growing more serious. "listen well. This concerns my younger son."

Volstagg starts slightly, a look of surprise passing over his features.

"Prince Loki, my Queen?" He asks, and she nods.

"Aye. You have heard, doubtless, that he has been returned to Asgard and locked away in the palace dungeons?"

"Aye." He says. "That is the news about here."

Again, Frigga nods.

"What I tell you now must not leave this room." She presses. "You must tell no one the words I speak to you. Not your children, not even your wife. Is that understood?"

"Aye, my Queen." He nods, swallowing visibly. "You have my word."

"That is well." Frigga tells him. "Then listen. Loki is not in the palace dungeons. Yes, he was returned to Asgard by Thor, but he spent scant more than an hour in our realm before my husband, your King, sent him again to Midgard."

Volstagg's expression now is a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"But.. why?" He asks after a moment. "If... if my Queen will pardon my asking."

"It is well." Frigga assures him. "It is fit punishment, in my husbands eyes, that Loki should be returned to the realm of which he attempted subjugation. But there is more to it than this. The All-Father did not simply cast Loki out. He performed a spell upon him which only he would possess the power to realize. My husband thinks his choice wise, believing it will offer to our son a second chance. Perhaps he is correct in his belief. I cannot say for certain. But the manner in which the sentence was executed, I cannot abide. It has left my child abandoned and alone and in a grossly vulnerable state, trapped in a world he knows nothing of, and with little if any means of defense."

Frigga can see Volstagg's confusion growing. Indeed, he would be, she thinks. If he believed Loki had been cast back to Midgard as he had been, fully grown and boasting a sorcerer's power second only to that of the All-Father himself, one could hardly term him vulnerable.

But Volstagg has never been as slow witted as some would allow his appearance to decide for them, and his next question proves intuitive.

"What spell then did the All-Father perform upon him?" He asks.

"... It was a deaging spell." She tells him flatly. "A spell impacting not only the physical, but the mental. A kind of regression, reducing its target to whatever time and place and memory the caster so chooses. My husband thus chose to reduce Loki's state to that of his first childhood."

Volstagg starts, naked alarm washing across his face.

"But..." he begins, stammering. "that... that would make him no older than..."

"Two hundred years, aye." Frigga finishes for him. "He thus sent him to Midgard with nothing, in the midst of one of the mortal's most sprawling and inhabited cities."

"Norns, is he..." Volstagg starts, horrified.

"He is not entirely without means." Frigga tells him. "Slim though the chances seemed, Loki was found by one of Thor's mortal companions and taken in, given safe haven. I have little doubt that my husband placed Loki down close to these humans with the intent of such happening. And Prince Thor has himself gone to Loki."

A look of genuine relief passes over Volstagg's face now, and Frigga is pleased to see it.

"However," she goes on. "the mortals, though perhaps well intentioned, have little concept in how to properly handle one such as Loki. He may be a child now, possessing the innocence of a child, but still he is immensely powerful, infinitely so as compared to them, yet still holding little control or understanding of those powers. Nor does Thor possess a great enough understanding of magic and its ways to properly guide Loki in this. I remember, Volstagg, when Loki was so young. When his magic first shewed itself. I had only recently begun to tutor him, to train him in the art of it, how to master and bend it to his will. And as well you know, he would eventually grow to become a sorcerer of unrivaled power and ability. But it took him many a year to hone his gift, with both mine and the guiding hands of Asgard's most adept seidmadr's. Without that guidance, with so profound a power within him, it is easily imaginable Loki might have lost control of it, and the consequences would indeed have been dire."

She pauses, making sure Volstagg is following her. His eyes show understanding, and so she continues.

"The mortals are ill-equipped. They know not what they have in their care, and they themselves are reactive, emotional creatures. If Loki were to lose control of himself, if he were to accidentally cause to them some harm, I fear their response would be immediate and harsh. They show to him kindness and tolerance now, but that could very easily change. And so, Volstagg, I have concluded that I must, as Loki's mother and guardian, go to him, and protect him. He needs his mother. I know you recall Loki at that age. How deeply sensitive he always was. I cannot leave him there alone. It is untenable, and he is unsafe."

Volstagg nods.

"Of course." He says. "And you wish for me to accompany you."

"Aye." Frigga answers. "That is right."

Volstagg stands then, dropping to his knee and crossing his fist over his chest.

"Then I am at your service, my Queen. Whatever you need of me."

Frigga smiles, standing herself.

"I am pleased to hear it good Volstagg. Then you will meet me at the royal stables tomorrow, at dusk. Be ready, take what you need, but keep it minimal. I think we should be gone from here a long while."


	16. Chapter 16

Loki does not react well.

It was stupid, Steve thinks, as he watches the boy step back from him, watches him crumple to his knees, to hope for anything else.

He had been able to see, as he'd related to Loki the battle for New York, the boy's face growing more and more distraught, his eyes thick with tears and grief. Loki hadn't stopped him at any point, hadn't asked any questions, hadn't argued.

Steve knew only sparse knowledge of what had gone on before Loki had shown up here on Earth. Thor had mentioned to them all vaguely about how he and his brother had "quarreled" and how afterward, Loki had "fallen from the Rainbow Bridge", into the "void". Steve had never completely understood what he meant by that, but he'd decided in the moment he should repeat the words to Loki, sure it would have more significance to him.

From the expression which had crossed Loki's face, one of pure, disbelieving horror, Steve guessed that it had, and not in any positive way.

By the end of it all, Loki had been shaking visibly, his face lined in an agony which didn't belong on a boy so young.

"I'm sorry." Steve says now, lost and uncertain. God, he... he hadn't wanted to do this. Hadn't wanted to tell Loki. He knew it was going to go badly, knew it would only cause the kid pain and confusion. But Loki had had the right to know too. It hadn't been right to keep hiding it from him.

"Loki, I'm..." he starts, but Loki shakes his head violently, his arms wrapping around himself.

"... I knew..." he breathes out, his voice trembling, wavering badly. And all of a sudden he's sobbing, thick, broken, gasping wails, wracking his frame.

Steve starts, alarmed, quickly getting to his knees and moving closer to the boy, reaching out.

"Loki, oh no, no, it's..." What? It's okay? Steve knows it's a ridiculous statement even as he thinks it.

Loki doesn't give him the chance anyway.

He turns away, out of Steve's reach, slumping against the wall of the closet. His hands come up, fisting in his black hair, pulling on it what looks like painfully hard.

"I knew I w-was ww-wrong." He cries harshly. "That ss-something was ww-wrong with mm-me. They... they all kkn-knew..."

Steve's mouth falls open, and he thinks I've got to do something, I've got to say something, I have to help.

Only his brain isn't working quickly enough, he can't think of the right words, his body feeling suddenly paralyzed, unable to move, to act.

And then his vision is blinded, a bright, overwhelming flash of green and white light filling his eyes.

Inadvertently he turns away, throwing his hands up, the powerful scent of pine and snow at once filling the air, and even before his vision clears and he can look back to where Loki had been, he knows the boy is gone.

/

"JARVIS," Steve starts, his voice shaking with urgency as he rushes down the hallway. "is he in the building still?"

"He is not, Captain Rogers."

"Damn it." Steve hisses, picking up his pace. "Have you informed the others?"

"Just now Captain. They are preparing as we speak. I have suggested you convene in the front lobby of Avengers Tower"

"Right. Do you have a beat on Loki yet?" Steve asks as he finally reaches his room, bursting in and grabbing up his shield.

"I'm afraid not Captain. However, I am currently tapping into the city's security feeds, and, if he remains in New York, I should have a location on him shortly."

"Tell me the second you know." Steve says, even as he runs out of his room, opting for the stairs exit instead of the elevator down to the lobby.

"Of course, Captain."

Jesus, he'd screwed up. He'd screwed up bad.

Loki could be anywhere, having an emotional breakdown, out in a world he still didn't really know anything about.

If anyone got hurt, it would be his own fault, Steve thinks.

His heart beats painfully in his chest then, worry churning nauseatingly in his gut.

He had to find Loki. He had to help him.

/

"Hey Cap!" Tony greets, smiling falsely. "So, uh, what the fuck did you do?"

Steve stops where he is, blinking back at him a moment, and Tony can't help the anger which boils up suddenly in his throat, can feel his face twist in a sneer.

"Seriously Cap, what the fuck did you do to him?"

Steve shakes his head, looking pained, and Tony feels only vaguely guilty.

"He wanted to know the truth. He... he already knew we were hiding something from him. That we knew him from before. He demanded that I tell him. I couldn't... I couldn't keep lying to him like that."

"You told him the truth." Clint says, deadpan. "As in, you told him he blew up half of downtown Manhattan and killed hundreds of people?"

Steve's lips purse, his brow furrowed in consternation before he gives a single, hard nod.

"I told him he lead an attack by an alien army on the city, that there were casualties. That he'd proclaimed his intention at the time to take over the planet."

"Oh, well that's just great." Clint goes on, throwing his hands in the air. "So now he's either gonna drop the charade and reveal he's been fucking with us the whole time, or he's gonna have an epic child tantrum and burn the rest of the city down in the process."

"How did he react?" Bruce steps in, sounding actually frightened. "I mean, what did he say?"

Steve's face just keeps getting more and more pinched.

"Not good." He says flatly. "He started crying hard and then he... he said something about always knowing there was something wrong with him, and then he teleported out of sight. I don't know where he went."

"If he's still in the city, JARVIS will know soon enough." Tony says, bringing the faceplate on his suit down, trying to reign his emotions in. He can't get angry now. If Loki really does have some sort of melt down, they're going to need to contain the situation, try and bring the kid in without hurting him.

As if on cue, he hears JARVIS inside his ear.

"Sir, I have a location on Loki Odinson."

"Talk to me JARV." Tony answers, his body growing tense.

JARVIS tells them Loki is in Central Park, at the exact location where he and Thor had originally been beamed back to Asgard via their Bifrost bridge thing.

Relief runs through all of them, gratitude that the kid hadn't gone far.

Only it's short lived.

"What's he look like?" Cap asks.

"Not well, Captain Rogers." JARVIS answers honestly. "He appears to be having a severe emotional episode. Also, he is giving off high levels of extremely powerful, er, magical energy. I know how you dislike the term Sir, but truly, we have no other definition for it. I believe the child is imminently dangerous, both to himself and others. I suggest you intervene at your quickest convenience."

"Well, that's just peachy." Tony says, glib as ever. Inside, though, he can feel himself starting to panic.

Most bizarrely, he thinks, the panic feels more like it's for Loki than for anyone else.

If the kid ends up going supernova, Tony has no doubt the one that's going to end up suffering the most is him.

He's heard the stories from Bruce. Knows what the government and SHIELD would do if they got their hands on someone like Loki. Knew himself from how hard they continued to petition and attempt to wrest control of his own technology from his hands.

They would have no issue with locking Loki up in a science lab and conducting numerous, inhumane experiments on him. Even less so if Loki gave them an excuse, and Tony just knew they were looking for one.

Except Loki was just a kid. Tony knew that. They all did. Even Clint, he suspected. And if it was wrong to do to an adult, than it was possibly even more so to a child.

"Move out!" Steve gives the order, and just like that, all four of them are off, Tony taking to the sky.

He'll be the first on scene, and his mind is already buzzing with how he can defuse this situation before it gets anymore out of hand. He can understand why Steve did what he did. And he was right, to an extent. Loki had asked him point blank for the truth, and Tony was smart enough himself to know that trying to continue to pull the wool over the eyes of someone that smart was a losing proposition. Loki had already known something was up. It was only a matter of time before he found out on his own, and then his reaction might still have been worse, because he wouldn't have felt like he could trust any of them for their continuing to lie to him like that.

But still, this was bad. Really bad. Tony could just feel it, that Loki finding out now, so suddenly, it couldn't end well. Not for a kid like that. It wasn't just that he was so smart. Part of that intelligence, Tony knew from first hand experience too, was the way it was connected to sensitivity. Loki was a sensitive little dude, and something like this, finding out that you'd grown up to be a mass murderer, that you'd grown up to become a tyrannical lunatic hell bent on taking over a planet, it would be bad enough for anyone, for someone like Loki, who already had so much trouble feeling like he belonged, it would be devastating.

If he could just somehow talk to the kid, get him to calm down, maybe he could do something to keep it from spiraling out of control.

Only he already knows that isn't going to be an option as he nears the site where JARVIS informed them Loki was. He's getting all kind of very bad alerts informing him of very dangerous energy spikes, all emintating from a single source, and he knows it's the kid. Knows it more as he comes within range and he can see Loki now, huddled on the ground where the Bifrost had touched down.

He's on the balls of his feet, his arms wrapped round himself, and Jesus Christ on a bagel, there's waves of green light coming off of him, nearly blindingly bright, and even from way up here, Tony can feel the pulsations of it, pounding against the exterior of his suit, reverberating inwards, like a particularly powerful sound wave.

Things are bad, he knows, when he sees a group of idiot pedestrians getting a little too close, that being about a hundred yards out from where Loki is, before they're suddenly lifted into the air like fucking rag dolls and tossed back like trailer parks in a tornado.

Loki doesn't even seem to realize what's happened. He isn't in control, Tony thinks.

That's only confirmed for him when he lands, keeping his distance about 150 yards out.

Luckily, the rest of the civilians seem to have picked up a clue, keeping back as well. Half of them are standing and staring with wide eyed fear and shock, others, the smart ones, Tony thinks, are running away screaming. Still, it wasn't just that one group that had gotten smacked aside like an annoying gnat. Tony's noticing several other downed individuals around the area. A cursory glance and vitals scan shows them to be only a little bruised up, nothing serious. But that could change, he knows, and fast.

Loki's losing it.

Tony can see he's crying, sobbing, really, his face turned towards the ground.

"Guys," he speaks into his com. "ETA? I'm standing in front of the kid and it doesn't look good."

"Four minutes out." He hears Steve answers. "What's the situation Stark?"

"Kid's in a bad way." Tony says bluntly. "He's having an emotional melt down or something, I'm talking tears, snot, the whole shebang. But that's not all folks. He's letting off some crazy powerful energy signature that's acting like some manner of sonic wave. It's knocking people back like bowling pins."

"Can you reach him?" Cap asks.

"I can try?" Tony answers. "I really don't know. Whatever it is he's emitting is powerful stuff."

"Try." Steve orders. "Don't use excessive force though. Don't hurt him."

"Do you even have to say it Cap?" Tony says, before bracing himself, moving forward.

A hundred yards out, and he can already feel the force of Loki's energy trying to push him back, Tony putting considerable effort into maintaining his forward momentum.

"Loki!" He tries calling once he's close enough, about 75 yards out, and it's getting harder and harder to push on the closer to the kid he gets. "Loki, kiddo, can you, uh, maybe calm down a little?"

If Loki hears him, he gives no indication.

He's saying something though, Tony can hear it over the din of screams and cries and rippling air from the force of the boy's magic.

About 40 yards out, he can finally make out the words.

"He doesn't answer..." he's saying. "He doesn't answer."

Okay, Tony thinks. He had no idea what that's about. This situation is so over his head anyway. He wonders how he even ended up in it.

"Loki!" He calls again, trying to plant himself against the force of the energy, and suddenly the kid's head snaps up, and Tony gets a clear look at his face for the first time.

His eyes are fucking glowing. As in, there's no white, no pupil left to be seen. Just pure, white/green light pouring out from them, though the tears are still clearly visible, slipping down his gaunt face.

Tony just has time to see Loki's expression twist into something halfway between anger and misery, before all at once he lashes out with his left hand, and a wave of golden light comes shooting forward from his fingertips, slamming into Tony with what feels like the force of a fucking mack truck doing 80.

Tony's flies back, lifted entirely off the ground, the world spinning around him in dizzying circles.

When he lands, he lands hard, impacting against something which has his body jarring around inside his suit, bruising and battering it painfully.

It takes several, long moments for everything to stop moving. When it does, there's still a loud buzzing inside his ears, and it takes longer still before he hears Steve's voice asking him frantically what was going on.

He groans, trying to push himself over onto his hands and knees, every muscle in his frame seeming to ache and protest against the movement.

"Uh... guys..." he finally manages to gasp out. "we're... we're gonna have a bit of a problem here."

"Why, what's going on?" Clint snaps.

Tony has to suck air for a few moments, his ears still ringing loudly. It feels like he's been punched in the gut.

"He's..." he starts. "I can't get near him guys. He... he blew me back like it was nothing. Just... hit me with some kind of energy blast."

Already malfunction alerts were popping up on his HUD. Whatever Loki had done, it had compromised the suit. Not entirely. It was still operational. But total capacity was currently at 65% and dropping. If it kept up at the rate it was, he was going to be useless.

"I think we're gonna need your other guy on this one Bruce." Tony says, already dreading the reality.

There's static in reply for several seconds.

"Guys?" Tony tries.

A moment later he sees Steve, Bruce and Clint appear, jogging towards him.

Bruce has a pained, worried look on his face, glancing between Tony and Loki a couple hundred yards away.

"You can't get near him?" Steve reaffirms once they reach Tony's side, also glancing towards the kid, his jaw set and hard in that super patriotic way of his.

Tony pulls back his face mask, shaking his head.

"No can do Cap. My power levels are dropping fast. I don't know what he did to my suit, but it's causing it to short circuit. I'm done here unless I can get back to the tower and get a new one."

Steve looks conflicted and troubled, frowning deeply.

"If you can't get near him, then Clint and I don't have a chance." He says, looking back towards the kid.

"Christ, what's he doing?" Clint says, sounding almost dazed.

Steve ignores him.

"Bruce," he starts instead, looking to him. "we need you on this. Do you think you can gt to him and subdue him without hurting him?"

Bruce fidgets, looking incredibly uncomfortable, swallowing visibly.

"I can try." He eventually says. "The Hulk... he won't usually hurt little kids."

Steve nods, and Tony can't help the relief he feels.

"He might scare the hell out of him though." Bruce warns.

"That's a risk we're going to have to take." Cap answers. "The priority is getting Loki to safety, and making sure no one else gets hurt. Clint, I want you to check on these people, make sure there aren't any serious injuries."

"Right, yeah. Okay." Clint says, before he's taking off, going to the closest downed civilians.

"Bruce." Steve turns to the smaller man, and Bruce nods.

He turns to Loki, beginning to walk towards the boy, and even as he does, Tony sees his shirt split open at the seams as he begins rapidly to grow big and green.

The entire transformation takes only a few seconds, and the Hulk, massive and imposing, already seems to understand what he's supposed to do. He doesn't charge towards Loki, like he would an enemy. Instead he walks, slow and lumbering, his very footfalls causing heavy impact tremors through the ground. Tony can feel them even through his suit.

This is good, he thinks, watching with intent and anxious eyes. The Hulk might scare the bejeezus out of the poor kid, but at least he'll be able to get to him, calm him down. Even if he has to forcibly hold Loki still, as long as they can get him back to the tower and get him somewhere where his magic isn't going to cause more damage, or hurt more people, then...

Tony's thoughts are cut brutally short, when Loki abruptly stands, and for an instant, Tony feels his heart jump into his throat.

The kid's face looks horrified and shocked in equal measure, eyes wide as saucers, still glowing green, looking more terrified by the second as the Hulk draws nearer.

But the big guy never makes it within fifty yards of him.

Loki turns away like he's too afraid to look, his hands flying up like he thinks something is coming to hit him in the face.

A blast of energy explodes from those outstretched hands, so powerful it flattens everything within five hundred meters. All of them, all the people unlucky enough to be that close, all the fucking trees and bushes. The God damned Hulk.

Tony doesn't really see it happen. All he knows is he'd heard a sound like the sonic boom of a fighter jet flying not 30 thousand feet above his head, but about 10, and then the world had gone upside down, and nausea had hit him like a wave, and pain like he'd been smashed across the face and body by a solid wood baseball bat, swung by the Babe himself.

After that, all he'd seen was sky, and the ringing in his ears had intensified to a mind numbing pitch.

He doesn't know how long he'd lain there like that, just staring at the blue expanse above him, not really understanding what he was looking at.

Eventually, he'd come back to himself, and he'd managed to struggle to a semi-upright sitting position.

Everyone around him was down and prone, much like he'd just been, including Steve, and Clint, and every other person and plant anywhere close to the blast.

Including the Hulk.

Christ... Jesus... Jesus fucking Christ. Tony was staring, not believing what he eyes were showing him.

The Hulk was lying there, some sixty or seventy yards from Loki, motionless and, Tony swears, knocked unconscious. An untenable fact made tenable by the way Tony could see him already beginning to shrink down, already turning back into Bruce.

And Loki... Loki was sitting there on his knees, his fingers twisted in his hair, pulling at it, his face agonized and frightened and lost, staring at the Hulk. Even from where he was, Tony could see his chest heaving in desperate breaths, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. His eyes weren't glowing anymore. Just their regular, brilliant shade of unnatural green, pupil wholly visible, if blown wide.

He'd taken out the Hulk.

He'd...

This little kid. This kid who looked like he was seven fucking years old. Who was frail and tiny and sweet, who was scared out of his mind for so many reasons...

He'd taken out the Hulk. Had knocked him flat and asleep.

Nobody should be able to do that, Tony thinks numbly, his mouth suddenly, horribly dry, an awful, choking terror working up the inside of his throat.

He didn't think Thor could do that. Except...

None of them really knew what Thor was capable of, now that he thought about it. The Thunder god was always bluntly enigmatic about his powers, always alluding to the fact that he wasn't really letting loose, wasn't showing what he was actually capable of.

Had hinted more than once that what they'd seen of Loki had been only the tiniest fraction of what his brother's power actually entailed.

But...

That was the Hulk. The fucking Hulk.

"We're fucked." He hears a voice say, and for a second, in his dazzled, shocked state, Tony thinks its his own, talking aloud.

But then he blinks and looks up, and he sees Clint, standing shakily to his legs, staring at Loki with the same, awed expression.

"We're totally fucked." He repeats.

Tony is inclined to agree.

Unless Thor would just magically appear and take hold of the situation. That would be great. Really.

And then suddenly there is a bright flash, and for a moment, Tony thinks Loki's lost it again and is blasting them all with the finishing blow. For a moment, Tony feels certain that they're all going to die.

Only the flash isn't green this time, it's golden, the air rippling and pulsating like it's somehow splitting apart.

Thor, Tony thinks. Could the lunk actually have somehow heard his thoughts? He was supposed to be a god, after all.

Only it isn't Thor who appears.

It isn't Thor at all.

It's a beautiful woman, a beautiful woman, in the most elaborate, flowing, expensive looking blue and white gown Tony has ever seen, her intricately braided and styled hair the exact same color as Thor's, her eyes the exact same shade of blue. Behind her, the fucking biggest man Tony has ever seen. Bigger than Thor even, sporting the biggest, bushiest red beard ever, also intricately braided and beaded, and decked out in some sort of purple Robin Hood getup, feather in cap and everything.

They come out of the light very near Loki, and the woman, whoever she is, and Tony is absolutely certain in that moment that she isn't from around here, that, in fact, she isn't even close to human, or the guy, for that matter, doesn't seem to even notice any of them.

She turns as if compelled towards the kid, her eyes locking on him with such intensity that for a second, Tony feels a kind of sickening fear that she means Loki harm.

But then she takes a step closer, and she calls to him, calls his name.

Loki looks to her, and the recognition on his face is absolutely naked.

His face crumples, and he falls forward, like he's trying to stand, but his legs won't work. And so he begins to crawl, on hands and knees, towards the woman.

"Mama!" He cries, and he sounds so much like the child he is. "Mama, Mama!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all my thanks to my readers and reviewers! You guys are the best. The support for this story continues to astound me.
> 
> Just a note on Loki's basically handing the Hulk his ass. I know some people might not agree with Loki having so much power, but in my view, the Hulk is such a PHYSICALLY powerful being, that the only truly realistic force which could stop him, in my mind, would be magic. And Loki is the most powerful sorcerer in Asgard. If anyone could stop the Hulk cold like that, I think it would be Loki. One of the things that always has bothered me about the films is the way they de-power both Thor and Loki, and all of the Aesir, really. They aren't aliens, they aren't demigods, they're gods, plain and simple. They don't have "advanced science" as the basis of their power, they have magic. So that's how I always write these guys. That's the way it should be, imo.


	17. Chapter 17

Mama? As in...

Oh... shit, Tony thinks, staring in wide eyed disbelief at the scene unfolding before them.

The woman, and Father Christmas behind her, start towards Loki, their steps urgent and determined, especially hers. Loki's... Mom. God this is so weird. She's on the kid in a moment, getting close to him with no issue at all, unlike the rest of their pathetic, ragtag group, bending down and reaching for him.

Loki reaches back, and an instant later, she has him in her arms, lifting him up and cradling him against her chest.

Loki clings back to her like his very life depends on it, his face pressing against her shoulder, his little frame shaking violently, wracked with muffled, heaving sobs.

She holds the back of his head, pressing kisses to his crown and shushing him, rocking him gently back and forth.

Whatever explosion of power Loki had been giving off only moments before has disappeared completely. Now he looks like nothing but a frightened, fragile little boy, being soothed and quieted by his mother.

That explosion of power, though... Already Tony is thinking of the implications. Loki was just a child, a very young child. He shouldn't have been able to do what he did. Swatting them all aside like pesky flies. Like it was nothing. He hadn't... he hadn't shown anywhere near that kind of capability when he'd attacked their planet. Hadn't shown that kind of power. All Tony could remember seeing from him were a few illusory tricks, and some very cutting, wry wit. And he'd been strong, of course. Tony remembers that awful moment, when Loki had grabbed him by the neck and lifted him into the air like he was a fucking powder puff, throwing him through a bullet proof glass window with impossible ease.

Tony had never felt more helpless in his life than in that moment. 

It didn't make any sense. If Loki had this kind of power as a child, then he must have had it and more as an adult. If that was true, then his attempt to take over their world, well... Tony didn't think it could be called an attempt at all. More like a purposeful hack job. 

Loki could have taken all of them out by himself, and pretty damned easily, if his little explosion a few minutes ago was anything to go by. No army required.

Only... he hadn't. He hadn't even really come close, when Tony looks back on it and thinks.

So... what the hell? is the question. 

Maybe something to think over later. Right now doesn't really seem like the right time.

Right now, she who is apparently Big Mama Bear is in the house, with her trusty Viking sidekick, and fuck, if Loki could smack them around like a cat does a mouse, Tony didn't even want to imagine what a grown, pissed off mother goddess could do to them. And, frankly, right now, the situation didn't look good, with all of them suited up and on their assess, looking like a squad of, well, soldiers, going to battle, and Loki clinging to her, crying his eyes out and clearly terrified. It didn't look good at all.

“Who is that?” Tony's attention is diverted by Steve's voice, sounding groggy and dazed, and he sees the Captain sitting up, rubbing the back of his head. “Is that...?”

“It's his Mom.” Clint says. “His and Thor's Mom.”

//

In her arms, Loki feels like he weighs nothing at all.

She remembers it well. Remembers how small he had always been. How she'd been able to carry him like this without the trouble of awkwardly long limbs or amused glances for long years after most mothers would have given up such a thing.

She remembers how Loki, too, had loved to be held by her, carried by her, long after most children would have been too embarrassed to let their mother's do so, felt themselves too grown up for such things.

And just as then, just as always, a fierce protectiveness fills her. Her son is frightened, terrified, trembling uncontrollably against her and crying brokenly. She knows, then, something more has happened, something beyond Loki simply missing his mother.

She need only lift her face and look about her to know it too. The odor of Loki's magic permeates the air still, the sense of it still rippling and static upon it, an enormous expenditure of his energy. The felled trees and shrubbery, the felled mortals, something had stirred volatile emotion in him. Something she can only imagine the mortals had said or done, and her protectiveness turns abruptly to righteous rage.

Loki had had the ability for such power at his present age, but it had largely lain dormant in him, quiet, until he had become emotional for by whatever cause, and then he had lacked control of it almost entirely, she remembers. Remembers those times when her son would become so incredibly dangerous, when his magic would pour out of him unchecked, fueled by his turmoil and fear and pain. Times when she or Odin had had to step in and calm him, at times simply overpower him and induce in him a deep sleep.

Now, it seemed, her mere presence had been enough, the obvious fact too that what energy Loki had, he had expended completely, leaving himself exhausted.

He had no more strength in him to be dangerous.

He wouldn't have to. 

Whatever had driven him to defend himself so, Frigga plans herself on taking care of it.

She's sees gathered about some small distance away who she knows to be Thor's mortal shield companions, some laid flat on their backsides, others now struggling to their feet, unsteady and weak looking. There is a man, closer than the rest, naked and unconscious, perhaps thirty or so paces from her, Loki and Volstagg. This, she thinks, is the man her eldest son had told her about, the one who would transform into a beast of unsurpassed strength, able to match, Thor had said, even his own.

The one who Loki had allowed to toss him about like some child's toy. The one Loki had allowed, she knows, to beat him senseless. A thing she had always wondered at. Why, she had questioned, had her youngest allowed the creature to put hands on him at all, when he could have stopped him with little more than a thought. Why, she had questioned the same, had Loki allowed himself to be defeated at all by mere mortals, if his intention had been true in subjugating their world.

Loki, very clearly, had not allowed such this time.

Where, she wonders as she looks about the group then, is Thor?

He would not have allowed any of this to happen.

She can hear at a distance the sound of some primitive sort of machinery, closing towards them at a fair pace, and her eyes narrow in suspicion as she lifts her gaze upward, her hackles rising. 

She trusts not these mortals suddenly, not after finding her son is such clear distress, the rest of them appearing poised and armored as if for an attack.

She turns her attention then to the one who had taken Loki in. Steve Rogers, she recalls his name to be. He's just now getting to his feet, using some manner of gaudily colored shield to push himself up. He takes a few moments to gather his bearings, apparently, before be begins, cautiously, towards her and Loki, his hands raised up in front of him.

Still Frigga feels herself stiffen with wariness, holding Loki more tightly against her.

He holds her back, his small hands burying into the material of her dress, his face pressing harder against her shoulder.

“Hush my darling,” she tells him quietly. “your mother is here. All will be well.”

Even as she says it, she can hear the strange machines drawing nearer still, and without thought, she begins drawing her own power close gathering it, continuing to shush her son, to keep him calm.

If these mortals are fool enough to attack, she thinks, she will hesitate nothing to show them their own, great folly.

Volstagg steps around her then, standing before her and Loki with wide stance, his great ax held at the ready in his two, massive hands. Frigga smiles, pleased to see the warrior's loyalty already so readily on display.

“Excuse me, huh, y... your majesty?” Rogers starts, voice stilted and unsure. He stops some distance away, his hands still up and out in front of him. Frigga lifts her chin, her mouth a straight, unhappy line.

“You have mishandled my son.” Frigga says, eyes fixing on the man, moving slowly then to the other mortals scattered about. “You conceive now the consequences of such mishandling.” Her eyes fix again on Rogers. “What did you do to him?” She asks flatly, not bothering to keep the displeasure from her voice.

The man swallows visibly, though not, Frigga thinks, from fear. His face is open in emotion, lined with grief and shame. 

“Your majesty, I'm sorry. Clearly we've... handled things badly. Loki... uh, your son, he asked me to tell him the truth. He'd figured out that all of us... that we knew him, from before, and he... he wanted to know how. I couldn't... I couldn't in good conscience keep lying to him maim, I mean... I mean your majesty.”

Frigga feels a painful restriction in his throat as Rogers' words form, and she realizes quickly what he means. Her heart sinks, an awful, consuming fear threatening, for a moment, to make her lose her composure.

“... You told him what occurred, on your realm? You told him his part in it?” She asks, and even as she does, a harsh, brittle sob wrenches from Loki's tiny frame, his hands gripping desperately in the material of her dress. She can feel the surge of his own energy, and hastily she casts a spell to sooth him, whispering quiet and soothing words into his ear as she does. She feels him begin to calm then, mercifully. Her son needs no more anxiety, no more pain now.

“Yes, your majesty. I'm sorry.” Rogers says. “If I'd known... I didn't think, didn't know he could do... this...” The mortal looks around him, helplessly, a deeply concerned expression across his features. “Please your majesty, don't... don't take this as any kind of hostility on my or my teammates part. We work for a government agency called SHIELD, and they'll have seen what Loki can do. You can probably hear that noise right now.”

“Yes.” Frigga says, her wariness growing by the moment. “What is it?”

“Helicopters.” Rogers answers.

Frigga blinks.

“I know not what that is.” She says plainly.

“Right. I know. It's... it's a military weapon. They think your son is a threat, and they're coming to intercede. Your majesty, I think we should leave right now. Get somewhere else.”

Frigga pulls Loki tighter against her, her son trembling viciously still.

“You would dare issue threat against my child?” She asks, both astonished and furious. “You would be so bold? So dull witted?”

Rogers shakes his head.

“No your majesty. It's not us. Please. It's the government agency we work for. You have to understand. Loki just took out the most powerful weapon we have like it was nothing.” He swallows again, suddenly pointing to the unconscious man lying closest to them. “That man there, he... he can transform himself into something we call the Hulk. He's as strong as your other son, maybe stronger.”

At this Frigga cannot repress a scoff.

“He is not.” She assures the mortal. “Nonetheless, a powerful being. Loki would not have rendered him thus,” she nods towards the man. “had he no cause. Tell me this cause.”

“Your majesty, there isn't time...” The mortal begins to protest, and Frigga steps around Volstagg, towards him.

“You will tell me now.” She commands harshly, caring not how the man takes it.

Rogers blinks, before he straightens.

“... We were trying to get to him you majesty, to try and calm him down.” He says after a moment. “We were afraid people were going to get hurt.” 

“And so you send an unthinking, unequally strong beast at him?” Frigga asks, bemused and disgusted. “And what did you presume would be the outcome of such a scenario?”

The mortal looks helpless and lost.

“We were hoping to get him back to our headquarters your majesty. We were only trying to keep him safe.”

Frigga regards the man then, her eyes narrowed.

He isn't lying, she thinks. No, instead he seems plainly, almost absurdly sincere. He really believes his words. His intentions towards Loki had only been good.

Even in that intent, though, he and his companions had caused harm.

“And your superiors now come to, what, abscond with my child?” She asks.

“Maybe.” Rogers answers. “I don't know. But I don't really trust them any more than you do your majesty.”

Frigga can feel her brows lift.

“That seems strange.” She tells him flatly. “And do the rest of your... teammates feel as you?”

The mortal hesitates a moment.

“Some of them. It's... complicated.”

“Apparently.” Frigga replies, unimpressed. “Why, then, when there is, by your own admittance, such division between your people, should I remain with you and not simply take my son and leave you all?”

Rogers again hesitates, glancing back at his comrades, all of whom, save the man-beast, have now regained their feet and are, smartly, keeping their distance.

“If you won't be offended, your majesty,” he begins then, looking back to her. “I... I feel sort of responsible for him.” He nods towards Loki. “I know you may not believe me, but I've... I've really come to care about him, these last couple weeks. I want to help him. We... we all do, actually. And you obviously can and will do whatever you think is best for him. You're his mother, and that's your right. But... if you'll let me just say something which I think might give you reason to want to stick with us?”

“... As you wish.” Frigga nods, consenting.

“Well, first, Thor is with me and my team. He's gone right now, visiting Jane Foster. I'm not sure if you...”

“I do. Go on.” Frigga tells him.

“Right... Okay.” Rogers starts again. “He's supposed to come back tomorrow. He'll probably be back today, once we get in contact with him and tell him what's going on. SHIELD had a lot of fire power, but if they know both you and Thor are personally keeping Loki under your protection, I doubt they'll be stupid enough to make a move. It'll give them extra incentive not to try anything if they know the rest of us are keeping an eye on Loki too. And, this isn't meant at all to insult you your majesty, but this isn't your world. And I know you and your friend here can probably more than take care of yourselves, but I think maybe me and my friends can help you too. If you're planning on staying here on Earth, we can, huh, help you adjust maybe. Unless you're planning on going back to Asgard with Loki.”

“At present,” Frigga begins. “no, I am not.”

Unexpectedly then, she feels Loki struggle in her arms, his breathe hitching audibly.

“I am banished?” He says against her, so softly she's sure only her ears hear him. “Mama, I am banished? Papa doesn't love me anymore? B-because I am w-wrong. Papa hates me now.”

His voice breaks apart then, swallowed by renewed and painful sobbing, and Frigga feels her heart shatter, unable to stop the well of sudden, burning tears in her own eyes.

“No... oh, no, my love. Your father loves you. He loves you dearly sweet child.” She tells him gently, even as the words taste sour on her tongue. Not because she doubts them. Odin loves Loki. She knows that. He loves him still. But her husband's actions with Loki, as seemingly always, serve naught but to make the boy doubt that love. Odin has never understood how to treat their youngest son. And, as always too, Frigga finds herself scrambling and struggling to explain to him why his father treats him, what must seem to him, cruelly.

“Th-then why... why has h-he... has he done this to me?” Loki cries, his trembling hands clinging to her. “Is it t-true what... what Steve told me? Did I really do all those t-terrible things?”

Frigga doesn't know how to answer.

Now isn't the right time to discuss this with her son.

She believes the mortal when he tells her that this Shield intends her child harm. Believes him too when he tells her he and his companions, though clearly, grossly incompetent, had meant only good intentions towards Loki.

These helicopters are nearly upon them now, and though Frigga fully trusts in hers and Volstagg's ability to fend off whatever attack these mortals might unleash, she also does not wish to subject Loki to any further trauma than what he has already suffered. Still, it was the actions of Rogers and his friends, apparently, that set her boy to such a terrified state, and so, she thinks, it should be Loki's choice as to whether they go with Thor's friend's or take themselves elsewhere.

“Loki, my love,” she begins softly, leaning back to look down at him. “I swear to you, all will soon be explained. For now though, can you look at me a moment?”

Loki seems reluctant, for an instant his face only pressing harder against her shoulder. But she remembers she had raised her son's well and that, at least when they had been younger, they had rarely disobeyed their parents, and so she feels no surprise when, shortly after, Loki does as she asks, lifting his face and looking up at her.

The sight of him breaks her heart.

Oh, he is so young.

His face is round still with extreme youth, his skin so finely smooth and without trace of blemish, shockingly white against his deeply black hair. Only there is a weariness to him she remembers only too well, his cheeks sunken, gaunt in a way no child's should be, dark, exhausted circles under his brilliantly bright eyes. He looks pained and grief-stricken, both too young and too old all at once. His eyes shine with thick tears, traces of them running down his pale cheeks.

Frigga wishes, in that moment, that she could take all of his sorrow unto herself, and spare him forever the hurt he so plainly suffers.

It is a monumental effort then, not to herself burst into sobs.

Instead she smiles, reaching up and smoothing his soft hair back from his face, behind his ears, once, then again.

There is such absolute trust in his eyes for her. He trusts in her completely. And an almost crippling guilt nearly chokes her words in her throat at the sight. She doesn't deserve his trust, she thinks miserably. Not such implicit, unquestioning trust.

“Do you wish to go with Steve Rogers and his companions?” She asks him plainly. 

His hands curl tighter into the material of her dress, raw, naked fear spreading across his features.

“You aren't leaving me Mama?!” He asks frantically, his voice shaking hard. “Please don't leave me!”

“No, no, my love.” Frigga soothes him quickly, still smoothing his hair down over his head. “Hush now. Be calm. I am staying with you. Both myself and Volstagg. Neither of us is going to leave your side. Yes?”

Loki swallows thickly, sniffling, fresh tears falling from his eyes.

After a moment, he nods, and for the first time, his gaze shifts over to Volstagg, standing now by Frigga's side.

“H-hello Volstagg.” He greets meekly, and Frigga cannot help the grin which tugs at her lips at the first real sign she's had since arriving of her sweet, gentle, kind natured son.

Volstagg bows, his fist over his heart.

“Well met, my Lord.” Volstagg greets back, before straightening. Frigga glances to him, seeing Volstagg too has a large smile across his face. “It is good to see you prince Loki.” He goes on, an unmistakable joy in his voice.

Loki sniffles again, one hand finally untangling from Frigga's gown, reaching up and wiping at his at last drying eyes.

“It is good to see you too Volstagg.” He says back shyly. A long moment stretches, and then he says, more quietly still... “You got fatter.” 

Volstagg erupts into loud laughter then, his head tossed back.

“Indeed I have my Lord.” He admits, placing his big hands upon his belly. “My appetite, as ever, remains insatiable. Though you I see are handsome as ever. I'd wager my weight in gold all the pretty mortal lasses have already begun falling devoted at your feet.”

Loki giggles, his face turning bright red as he looks away from the warrior.

“N-no...” he says quietly.

“No?!” Volstagg says, voiced thick with disbelief. “Well, 'tiss only a matter of time. Once you and they have had the proper introductions, you'll find yourself having to beat them off you with a stick.” He reaches out then, ruffling Loki's hair with his palm, and again, Loki laughs, louder and more brightly this time.

It warms Frigga's heart, and gives her, at last, a sense of hope, to see her son smile.

“Well, my darling, the choice is yours. Again I ask, do you wish us to accompany Steve Rogers and his comrades? Or to go elsewhere?”

Loki looks back to her, again wiping at his eyes.

“I didn't mean to hurt them.” He says, so softly Frigga nearly misses his words. He looks ashamed and frightened.

“I know my love.” She tells him, leaning down and pressing her lips to his forehead. “I believe they know this too. You did not act wrongly.”

Loki looks away from her, his arms again wrapping round her middles.

“Steve is a good man.” He says softly. “He... he's my friend. Tony as well. They've been kind...”

“Then you wish to go with them Loki?” Frigga asks once more, wanting to be certain.

He nods weakly against her, seeming too shy to say the words aloud.

“Very well then my love. We shall go with them.”

And she looks back up at the mortal, nodding towards him.

“Lead the way, Captain Rogers.” She tells him. “If it please you to do so.”


	18. Chapter 18

Loki can scarcely begin to believe this is real. That she's here. That his mother is here, holding him, the perfume of her filling his nose, the soft folds of her gown pressed against his cheek as he hides his face against her shoulder.

She kisses him gently along the temple and the crown of his head every few moments, her arms strong and secure around him, and Loki knows it's cowardly, knows it's shameful for a prince, but he can't keep himself from crying, his tears soaking through the fine material of her gown.

He feels exhausted, his head spinning and the churning sickness of nausea deep in his belly. He hadn't meant to expend so much energy. He hadn't meant to expend any energy. But he'd been so frightened. And it happened so often now, when he was really scared. It was as if his magic wasn't his own, and refused to bend to his will, doing what it would to defend him without control.

Even still, he feels a drowning horror at Steve's words to him. At what... at what Steve had told him of himself, of what he had done, of... of who he had become.

He didn't want to believe it. Norns, he... he didn't want to, but... Oh, but it made so much sense, Loki thinks. So much horrible sense. Why he was here. Why he... why he couldn't remember how he had come to Midgard, why Steve and his friends behaved as though they knew him, when he recognized none of them...

He'd always known, always felt there was something wrong with him. Deeply wrong with him. Everyone else knew as well. They made that clear to him every day, did they not? Told him so through words and actions, and... never wishing his company, turning him aside, wanting him away from them.

They could sense the wickedness in him, the deformity.

He knew Steve's words were true. There wasn't even an inkling of a doubt.

The realization of it is like a crushing hold around Loki's throat, and suddenly he feels filthy and hideous. Mother... Mother should not be touching him. He should not... should not be touching her, soiling her with his... with his...

"Shhh, shhh my son. My child." Mother breathes softly against his ear, shushing him gently, her soft, kind hand smoothing over the back of his head, her hold on him tight and secure. "We will speak." She says, still a whisper. "But remember the words already spoken between us. Remember what I have told you. You are not what others tell you you are. You are not what they make you feel."

"He told me I... he said..."

"I know. Loki, I know." Mother soothes again. "We will speak. But know this now. There are reasons beyond what you know. Explanations. You are not wicked my son. You are not what you now suppose yourself to be. I give you my word in this."

There are so many questions bursting in Loki's mind. He wants to ask Mother, wants to ask her so much. But he is also so afraid. Cowardly, he thinks dismally. That's always been who he was. He's frightened of hearing the truth. Frightened of her stamping out that last, false doubt.

And so he only nods now, burying his face harder against her shoulder. He can pretend a little while longer, he thinks. Pretend like everything is back the way it once was.

/

Volstagg finds himself unable to stop staring.

Loki is sitting on his knees across from him, fiddling nervously with the material of his tunic, his face turned down, and he is so exactly as Volstagg remembers him, so much the boy Volstagg remembers from nearly eight centuries before, it feels as if he is experiencing some strange vision, some fateful dream from the Norns.

Only this isn't a dream at all, isn't a vision.

There's a tightness in Volstagg's throat as he watches Loki, and sees returned to reality the sweet, trusting young prince of Asgard, so shockingly different from who Loki had become, so opposing.

Volstagg remembers the change as if it had been sudden, though when he truly allowed himself to examine the past, he knows it hadn't been sudden at all, but something gradual. Something conditioned.

By the time Loki had reached his majority, he had grown so aloof, so quiet and cold, his face always hardened into an unreadable, emotionless mask. His manner and carriage inviting no companionship, no friendliness. He had grown entirely intimidating, frightening even in how unapproachable he had seemed. Like an untouchable statue of marble, with his snow white skin and raven black hair. His sharp, hard features, and his piercing, assessing, unmoving gaze, his eyes ablaze and shockingly green with the fire of his awful magic. Volstagg, then, had felt afraid of him, though he never would have admitted such a thing aloud. He had after that time hardly spoken to the second son of All-Father Odin, too unsettled by him to do so.

Loki had grown nearly unrecognizable from the boy he had been, with his open expressions and affectionate, sensitive nature. His glittering eyes and easy smile. He had just been such a loving, good child. Where Thor had always been so outgoing and confident and so immensely physically gifted, Loki had been his opposite. Quiet and shy and, underneath that, frighteningly intelligent and perceptive. He had used to look at Volstagg with so much knowing in his eyes, that the warrior remembers often having to look away from the boy for the discomfort it would cause. Perhaps, he thinks now with regret, that had in part been what turned people from Loki. That he would look at you and see. Truly see who and what you were. That was a thing most found unbearable.

But Loki had been good, with a pure and open heart. So much like his brother in that way, only it was expressed softly, almost silently, whereas Thor's goodness had been given loudly and obviously seen. Loki had never... he had never had Thor's confidence, had never felt sure of his gestures and actions the way Thor always had.

There had always been, lurking behind Loki's gaze, what had seemed to Volstagg like fear. Like he had just been watching and waiting for the inevitable rejection. The inevitable disappointment. Loki's timidity had been strange and bewildering to the people of Asgard. They had seen it as the attitude of one who felt guilt, or one who had something to hide, and they early on had begun to feel a mistrust of Loki for it. Harsh, unkind, unfair judgment, only making worse Loki's lack of certainty in himself.

Volstagg had little considered during those days how hard it must have been for the younger prince, to live in the shadow of his blazing bright brother. All of them had felt dwarfed next to Thor's brilliance. But for Loki, trying to match that brilliance, trying to equal it, being his sibling, being the son of their mother and father...

It could only have been immeasurably worse.

Volstagg wishes he could have been more mature then, more aware. He had often, when the Queen would leave Loki with him to look after, found the boy holed up in his room at night, weeping almost silently, and he had never understood what the matter was, thinking only that the young prince was an overly sensitive child, probably crying over some silly nothing or other.

He should have seen, from how often he found Loki weeping thus, that it was something deeper, something constant which plagued and grieved the lad.

Volstagg was reminded with poignancy how often and fiercely Loki had once been given to embraces, when, after ordering him to remain here with the young prince while the Queen went to speak with the mortals, Loki had run at him and thrown himself against Volstagg, his tiny frame hardly seeming to impact the great warrior at all, his stick like arms wrapping round Volstagg's knees.

Volstagg had stood frozen a moment, overcome with astonishment, before his mind had returned to him and he'd reached down, hugging the boy back.

He couldn't remember the last time he had hugged Loki. Couldn't remember the last time he had even really touched the second prince...

Most disconcerting of all now was how affectionate towards him Loki was, like none of the souring of their relationship had ever come to pass at all.

Watching him now, sitting there, shy and uncertain and scared, Volstagg wants nothing more than to protect him from any who would dare attempt him harm.

"Are they going to take me away?" Loki's high, youthful voice suddenly breaks the silence, and Volstagg starts, looking down, seeing the prince staring up at him, his eyes huge and frightened, shining too bright with unshed tears.

He's trembling vaguely, and Volstagg feels his heart sink.

"Come here." He beckons Loki forward, opening his arms.

Loki doesn't even hesitate, standing to his feet and moving forward, letting Volstagg take him up in his arms and hold him tight.

He clings back with desperation.

"No one is going to take you anywhere my prince." Volstagg reassures him softly. "Remember, your mother is here, as am I. You do not truly believe either of us would let any harm come to you, do you?"

Loki sniffles against his chest, shaking his head weakly in reply.

"That's a lad then." Volstagg smiles down at him. "You've nothing to worry over."

The room grows quiet for long minutes then, Loki clinging almost desperately to him, unmoving, until Volstagg hears his soft voice rise up to his ears, as shy and uncertain as the warrior rememberd.

"Volstagg?" He starts, keeping his face pressed against Volstagg's chest.

"Hmm?"

Another, long pause.

"Did I..." Loki hesitates, his voice fearful and thick with threatening tears. "D-did I ever h-hurt you? I mean, did I ever c-cause you harm when... when I grew older?"

Volstagg can feel himself stiffen, his mind halting for a long moment.

… There had been moments, he remembers, when he had thought Loki would hurt him. Moments when he had been very certain of it, the unease and fear palpable in his gut.

One moment in particular, and Volstagg can recall it in his mind as though it were only yesterday. He had been passing through a corridor of the palace, on his way to meet Thor in the training rings. He had seen Loki, skulking about as was his wont, and Volstagg remembers distinctly thinking to avoid the younger prince, to pass by without acknowledging him. Loki, he remembers, hadn't even seemed to notice him there anyway, his head bowed down, his arms crossed over his chest, seeming to be in deep thought.

As he'd been passing close to the prince, there had been a guard stationed in the corridor, and Volstagg had heard him, as Loki had passed him by too, call out to him a most derogatory insult.

"Ergi wretch." He had spit.

It had been far from the first time such insults had been spoken about Loki, or, as had been occurring more frequently then, to Loki's back, by those bold enough to speak to a member of the royal family in such a manner. Usually Volstagg heard such murmurings among crowded banquet halls and taverns. Often, too, on the training fields, where Loki was, by then, rare to appear anymore.

Volstagg had caught glimpses of the young prince alone out there, in the dead of night, going through hard and painful repetitions. Training by himself, as he did most things by then.

Whenever the warrior had seen such disrespect thrown at Loki's very back, the young prince had, to Volstagg's eye, never reacted, never shown any sign of even having heard it, though Volstagg had never been fool enough to suppose Loki did not hear every word.

That day, though, Volstagg had seen Loki react outwardly for the first time, and he remembers how terrifying it had been.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Loki halts abruptly in his stride, his frame going rigid, shoulders a tense, almost trembling line.

Volstagg's own step wavers as he sees it, a kind of falling sensation dropping down through his stomach at the sight.

He glances to the guard, seeing the man smirking arrogantly at the prince's back, and all Volstagg can think is what a fool he is.

The warrior has never seen Loki exercise his right and privilege of having any insubordinate behavior punished. The standard consequence for daring to speak out of turn to a member of the royal family would be a sever lashing. The All-Father was not in the least hesitant to dole out punishment of such nature, and Volstagg had even seen the Queen, when the situation was extreme enough, order lashings. Thor, good natured and forgiving as he was, had also given his fair share of similar orders.

But not Loki.

That had always seemed a strange, most contradictory thing to Volstagg, given Loki's cold, harsh demeanor. Rare to laugh, rare to smile. Rare to make even idle conversation. Volstagg would have thought, of all the royal household, Loki would be easiest and quickest to punish those beneath him.

But Volstagg had also learned of Loki not to assume, not to make guesses as to how he might behave or respond. He was mercurial, to say the least. Unpredictable.

As now. Volstagg, when hearing the idiot guard say what he did to the prince's back, had expected Loki to continue walking, to pretend he hadn't heard, as always.

He finds himself nothing short of shocked then, when, frozen for only a moment, Loki suddenly spins on his heel, facing the guard, and quicker than Volstagg's eyes can really follow, Loki is suddenly upon the man, his hands reaching out, grabbing hold of his collar and slamming him with thudding force against the wall.

Whatever smug attitude the guard had had before drains instantly from his face, his eyes wide and frightened as he stares back at the prince, crowding mere centimeters from him.

"Would you like for me to demonstrate to you some of those qualities which you so plainly disapprove of?" Loki hisses low and menacing.

The guard isn't given any sort of chance to answer, as the prince reaches up quick as a snake, wrapping a long, thin hand round the man's temples, a green, almost blindingly bright light seeping out from beneath Loki's palm.

The guard screams, an ear splitting wail which cracks through the corridor, bouncing back off the walls.

Loki's face is twisted in disgust and disdain, his powerful fingers curling tighter over the guard's forehead, digging into his flesh, the burn of his magic growing brighter still.

Volstagg stands paralyzed only a moment, frozen with horror and disbelief, before his body suddenly kicks back into action, and he lurches forward, knowing he has to stop this... whatever this is.

He reaches out, slamming his hand down onto the prince's shoulder, intending to pull him off.

"Loki!" He shouts.

He barely realizes what it is that happens next, the impact is so sudden and fast.

Loki turns, and Volstagg at once feels himself crushed by an explosion of energy, lifting him clean off his feet and slamming him back against the corridor's opposing wall, smashing him into it with an overwhelming strength.

The warrior's head spins wildly, a crippling pain ratcheting up through his spine, into the base of his skull where his head impacted with the wall.

It takes several, agonizing seconds for his vision to even begin to clear, and when at last it does, he sees Loki staring back at him, his own face lined with, for a brief moment, horrified shock.

It lasts but an instant, before the prince's face smooths again, unreadable. The guard behind him is crumpled to the floor, whimpering weakly.

Loki straightens, shakes his head, stepping towards Volstagg.

"Forgive me good Volstagg." He says, perfectly calm, perfectly emotionless. "I did not realize it was you at my back. I have not injured you too grievously, I hope."

Volstagg stares up at him, speechless, struggling not to flinch back at the prince's approach.

Loki continues staring at him, almost as one would stare at a particularly interesting insect, clearly expecting an answer.

Volstagg swallows against the sudden dryness of his mouth, forcing himself to speak.

"N-no, I... I am well. Just... just a tad winded."

Loki lifts his chin, giving a single, stiff nod.

"That is well then. I am glad to hear it. Are you certain you do not require me to accompany you to the healers?"

Volstagg shakes his head dazedly, wanting, he realizes then, more then anything for Loki to get away from him.

Loki blinks, another emotion passing over his features, though it comes and goes so quickly, Volstagg can't hope to know what it is.

"Very well." Loki says after a moment. "Good day to you then."

He bows his head, before turning away, striding quickly down the corridor, disappearing a moment later round a corner.

Volstagg watches after him until he is gone. The moment he is, he scrambles to push himself to his feet, a wave of dizziness washing through him, and he's forced a moment to catch himself along the wall to keep from falling.

He allows himself only a few moments to regain his bearings, before he stumbles forward, towards the still downed guard.

He expects to see the man's forehead singed and scorched by fire magic. The light of it had been so painfully bright, and the way he had screamed.

But pulling the guard's helmet from his head, Volstagg can find no mark of any kind, no visible injury.

The man has tears streaming from his eyes, washing down his face, and Volstagg lifts him, settling him back against the wall.

"Are you alright?" He asks urgently, looking over the man for any other sign of injury. "Are you hurt?"

The man doesn't seem for a moment able to answer, simply continuing to cry and whimper pitifully, sounding like a child.

"What did he do to you?" Volstagg presses, his worry growing.

"I do-don't know. I don't... he..." the guard finally stammers out, voice trembling and terrified. "I ss-saw things... h-horrible things... he sh-showed me... showed me..."

Volstagg swallows, trepidation uncurling in the pit of his stomach.

"What? What did he show you?"

"I don't kk-know. It was... oh gods, it was so horrible. H-he was there..."

"Who?" Volstagg presses. "Who was there?"

"Th-the prince. P-prince Loki, he was... a-and he was... th-they were tt-torturing him... oh Norns, gods, they were..."

Volstagg straightens, confusion and worry washing over him.

"Torturing who? The prince?"

The guard nods weakly, the tears thicker in his eyes.

"Who was torturing him?" Volstagg grabs hold of the man's collar. "What were they doing?"

The man shakes his head.

"I don't know, I c-couldn't... couldn't see their faces. J-just that... th-they were dressed in foreign garb I could not recognize and they w-were... they had him t-trapped somewhere, they were b-beating him, they had... had him stripped and were... oh... oh gods, I can't... I can't..."

The guard breaks down into uncontrollable sobs then, and whatever other information Volstagg had hoped to glean from him was, then, a lost endeavor.

All he could do was help the guard to his feet then and, as Loki had so oddly before offered to accompany him to the healing wards, Volstagg now does so for this man.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Volstagg had never discovered what image Loki had imprinted into that guard's mind, whether the vision had been true or a vicious and ugly lie. Though why Loki would show himself being victimized to a man who had already thought lowly of him, an image apparently terrible enough to reduce the man to wracking sobs, Volstagg had never been able to reason out.

He's brought back to the present by the feel of Loki shifting in his arms, looking up at him with frightened, nearly panic-filled eyes, his small chest rising and falling rapidly, and the warrior realizes he's gone too long without giving response, doubtless making the child believe he had hurt him at some point.

"I'm sorry!" Loki sobs suddenly, his eyes spilling over with fresh tears. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean... Oh, I truly am a w-wretch then..."

"No. No, no, no, oh, my boy, no..." Volstagg scrambles to sooth him, pulling him tighter against him. "You haven't. You haven't ever hurt me Loki. You... if you only knew how many times you had my back in battle. Why I would surely be dead a thousand times over if not for you at my side there."

And that was true, more than anything, Volstagg thinks, as he remembers back, and recalls suddenly just how often Loki had saved him. Saved all of them. Thor and Sif and Fandral and Hogun, and countless other warriors of Asgard. Saved them repeatedly and always, despite their often treating the second prince with less than kindness. Volstagg remembers, despite having himself grown to mistrust Loki outside of battle, within the field, there was no other he would rather have had at his back. Not even Thor, who in battle was so immersed in the lust for glory that he often forgot there was even anyone fighting beside him, concerned as he was with sating his own blood lust and honor, reveling in his own power and ability to defeat even the greatest of foes.

Loki forgot no one on the field of battle. Never forgot his role to guard his fellow warrior's backs.

The second prince might not have been the fighter his brother was, might not have possessed Thor's prowess and skill and sheer, brutal strength of arm, but if one was concerned with their own chances of making it out of the battle alive, it was the second prince you would wish beside you, always.

Loki stares up at him now, lifting a shaking hand and wiping clumsily at his eyes, a heartrending hope showing in his expression.

"Do... do I grow to become a great warrior?" He asks shyly, a threat of doubt in his tone.

Volstagg understands why. As a child, Loki had been so constantly ill, so sickly and weak, and so horribly lagging in the development of his battle training, children even younger than he regularly advancing more quickly than he through the ranks, almost no one had ever believed the second prince would develop into a warrior worthy of his father's name.

It was only when the Queen had finally taken Loki under her own tutelage that he had begun to improve in his technique and ability. Even then, it had taken a long time before the boy had been able to grow stronger.

But he had.

Few would ever admit it aloud, but Loki had, by his adulthood, become a more than capable, greatly effective and dangerous fighter, with or without the use of his magic.

Volstagg recalls even, one day, when Fandral had been behaving with particularly intense obnoxiousness, directing the majority of it towards the second prince, reprimanding Loki on the use of his magic in training and in battle, as if he were a small child still, and Loki, who so usually ignored such criticisms by then, had grabbed hold of Fandral with a blinding quickness, and had had the other man flipped over onto his back and a blade at his throat faster than any of any of them had been able to follow.

"I make use of my magic because it is there, Fandral." Loki had hissed above him. "Because it is a gift I posses. Do not ere in thinking me useless without it."

The needling of Loki among them over his perceived reliance on his magic had ceased for a time after that, though not for nearly long enough.

Again pulling himself from the memories, Volstagg smiles down at the boy now.

"Indeed. You become one of the finest in all of Asgard. Truly." He adds at the look of continued doubt in Loki's eyes.

Loki stares up at him then for a long moment more, before finally pressing his face again to Volstagg's chest.

It hardly surprises the warrior when, a few minutes later, Loki is fast asleep. He would be, after how entirely he had exhausted himself earlier.

Volstagg can only smile then, as he lifts the boy up, seeming to him light as air, moving with him towards the room's bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you again to all my readers! I really appreciate your support, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	19. Chapter 19

Frigga watches the dark skinned man pacing back and forth before her like a great cat trapped in a cage, his hands behind his back, his expression set and grim, and she cannot help but smile.

Very obviously, he is upset.

She cannot but admire his bearing, then. If he fears her or her kind at all, he shows none of it. Only an agitation and anger at being powerless in their dealings.

"Let me get this straight." He starts again, despite her having already tolerated his many and frankly absurd questions on the matter of her presence and regarding her son. The man was a mortal, and could hardly be expected to understand most things. And so she remained at ease and calm. She would only become more forceful should he give her reason to think he actually intended action against Loki in some manner. "Your husband, the King of this planet you're from..."

"Realm, good... director." Frigga interjects. "And yes, my husband is Sovereign to our people. More than that, he is All-Father of Asgard, and thus bears the burden of protector of all the nine realms."

"Right." The man called Fury says, the incredulity plain in his voice. "You do realize what your son did, don't you your highness?"

To that, Frigga takes exception.

"Do you?" She says flatly, the humor draining from her quickly.

At last the man's pacing stops, and he turns to look at her, his face contorting a moment with plain anger.

"I know he came down to our world intent on taking it over and ruling." He very nearly spits at her. "That his actions led to the injuries and deaths of hundreds of people!"

Frigga steps towards him suddenly, her pose ridged and threatening. The man towers over her in height, but she sees him stance waver, sees how he very nearly takes a step back from her.

"And were I to tell you that my son's actions here saved many billion's of your mortal lives? What then would you say?"

The man's lip curls, his single, visible eye flashing.

"How exactly did your son's actions save lives, your highness? If you don't mind my asking. And why shouldn't my agency consider your son a threat even now? One that needs to be neutralized."

This mortal is indeed pushing the limits of her lenience, Frigga thinks, and she fights with herself a moment to maintain her composure.

"I warn you now, director, any direct threat you make against my son, any action you take with the intent to harm him, will result in my taking action against you. And that, I assure you, will not end in any way to your benefit. As to your questions, I think, in time, the truth will be revealed to you regarding my boy's intentions. You know Loki not, director. You know not the man he is. I have raised him from infancy, have spent greater than ten centuries at his side, and I can tell you with complete certitude that Loki's intentions were not as they appeared to you or your companions. You must understand also that Loki is now a child. This is not some mere illusion, not some trick. He retains no memory, no knowledge of his adult life. He is innocent, and frightened, and has little control of his own power, which, as you I am sure recall, have just witnessed a small example of. You will allow me to handle my son solely, and will not interfere in this. Once more, if you should attempt to inject yourself into our interactions, you will incur my deep displeasure, which will be to your great disadvantage."

"So, what?" Fury replies after a long moment. "You just expect us to sit by and do nothing while your son, a wanted war criminal, takes up residence in the headquarters of our planet's designated protectors?"

"Precisely." Frigga replies smoothly.

Fury huffs in frustration, taking up his pacing again, plainly unhappy.

Frigga cares not at all.

He stops again after a moment, standing before her.

"If he does anything to threaten our world..." he starts.

"He will not." Frigga cuts him quickly short. "Not unless you give him cause to. And that is why I am here. To ensure he does not endanger either himself, or your realm."

"Is that a guarantee?" Fury asks flatly.

"As much of a guarantee as one is capable of giving, director." Frigga replies, just as flat.

"Ma'am?" She suddenly hears the Captain speak up, and she turns, seeing him to her left, looking uncertain. "Uh, I mean, your majesty." He stumbles again, plainly embarrassed.

She turns to him fully, her expression questioning to encourage him forward.

If at all she was disposed towards liking any of these mortals, she thinks, it would be this one. Duly respectful towards her, and towards everyone, polite, and she hadn't at all failed to notice Loki had seemed to acquire a particular affection for the man, which, she knew, could only have come from the man treating her son well and with kindness.

Though it was as well the Captain's doing that Loki had had such a sever emotional attack, the Captain who had revealed to the boy the truth of everything, and for that, Frigga reserved feeling entire comfort with him.

"Yes, Captain?" She presses when he fails to continue, and she watches with some amusement as he fidgets with himself.

"If you don't mind my saying so," he at last starts, commendably looking her in the eye. "I've been sort of taking care of your son for the past few weeks. He was living with me at my apartment for a short time before we moved here to the tower. He's a... he's a sweet kid, and I was just... if you're going to be staying here with him, does your directive include me and my teammates from interacting with him as well?"

Frigga cannot help but smile then, somewhat charmed by the man's earnest and transparent approach. His words regarding her son, too, seem honest.

"You may continue your interactions with my son." She says easily. "Provided of course you intend him no harm."

The Captain shakes his head vehemently.

"Me and my friends intend no harm to your son whatsoever Ma'am." He insists. "We... we want to help, in any way we can."

"Indeed?" Frigga replies, her eyebrows rising. "Well, that is good to know. My son seems rather fond of you, Captain. He referred to you as his friend."

The Captain smiles vaguely at that, nodding his head.

"I like to think so." He says quietly. "It's my honor if Loki thinks so."

Frigga pauses at that, somewhat taken aback.

She doesn't think the Captain meant it as mocking, and she had never... heard anyone say that regarding her youngest child.

When Loki had been growing up, he had had so few friends. Really, only Thor had been his constant and unwavering companion, and as they'd grown older, and Thor had so easily acquired friends of his own, the closeness between them had thinned, until Loki had almost always been by himself, keeping his own company because none of the other children had wanted to be near him.

Those memories weigh on Frigga's heart in a way that is very nearly physically agonizing to her.

Days when Loki had spent the entire day at her side for his loneliness, trailing behind her like a shadow, clinging to her skirts.

She remembers how it had torn her heart asunder, when she had had to attend to her duties as Queen, and been forced to send Loki away from her. The disappointed naked on his face in those moments were hard to bear. Worse still for her knowing he was going off to be by himself. She had almost always been able to find him afterward, holed up in the palace library, or sitting beneath the great ash tree in her garden.

Frigga tears herself from the memories now, focusing back on the Captain.

"... That is kind of you." She says cautiously, not entirely trusting, she realizes. Too many experiences of the children of other courtiers promising to play with her younger son, only to later refuse, or turn the play into a session of bullying instead.

"It's just the truth Ma'am." The Captain replies easily. "He's a good kid."

"I can see you are sincere." Frigga replies after a long moment. "But what of your comrades?" She looks around pointedly at the other mortals gathered. Some of them, it was plain enough to see, were deeply uncomfortable with the situation, and doubtless with Loki's presence. "Can you speak to their intentions well as your own?"

The Captain straightens then, lifting his chin.

"They're my teammates, and I lead this team. I can give you my word that no one under this roof will try to harm your son."

The Captain looks to each of his friend's as he says this, and Frigga sees them all nod in consent. Even the man with the bow and arrows who, Frigga could see was perhaps most uncomfortable of all.

"Then I accept your word Captain." She answers, satisfied. "Now, if there are no further questions," she looks back to the director. "I must attend to my son. Captain, if you would be so kind as to later show me about your dwelling, and perhaps help me to select a space for myself and Loki, I would be grateful to you for your service."

"Of course. Yeah." The Captain replies.

No one protests that, and they allow her to leave without any more questions, to her great relief.

She needs to be with her child now. Even were they to press her further, she would not deign, she thinks, to answer them.

/

"... Mama?"

Frigga starts from her reading, looking up to find Loki lying still on the bed, looking up at her with eyes still clouded with sleep.

She promptly closes her book, placing it on a nearby table and standing, moving towards him, seating herself on the bed at his side.

"Hello my darling." She says softly, reaching out and brushing her fingers through his soft hair.

She wonders how long he's been awake.

His eyes slip closed again for a moment as she continues to comb through his hair, massaging his scalp, and she can't help but marvel at how young he is.

"Is it very late?" Loki asks after a few minutes, his voice barely a whisper, his breath steady and even.

"Mmm. Yes, my love. It is the morning hours now. You've slept for quite a long while."

Loki is silent for a long moment then.

"How are you feeling?" Frigga asks finally, pressing her palm against the boy's forehead. He's cool to the touch, much to her relief.

"A little better." Loki answers. Another, long pause, and then he asks, "May I sit on your lap?"

Frigga smiles.

"Of course my love." She answers. "Here, let me up more."

He sits up, moving over to allow her more room as she climbs fully onto the bed, leaning her back against the headrest and patting along her outstretched legs for him.

He clambers onto her lap, wrapping his thin arms round her waist and resting his head against her chest, and Frigga is crushed with a wave of memory so powerful, her eyes sting for a moment with emotion. She wraps her own arms round him, holding him tight and pressing her lips to his crown.

"Oh, my sweet boy." She breathes softly.

They sit like that for a long while, no words needed, until finally Loki shifts, looking up at her.

"May I show you something?" He asks her, eyes earnest and excited. "Tony Stark gifted it to me recently. He... he is the man with the trimmed black beard, of short stature."

Frigga laughs lightly at her son's description, thinking it accurate.

"Certainly you may." She nods.

A wide grin breaks across the boy's face, his eyes alight.

At once he leaps from her lap, Frigga grunting softly with the movement as Loki jumps to the floor.

"Sorry!" He says quickly, spinning to look at her.

Frigga raises a hand, shaking her head to indicate it's alright.

"I'll be right back!" He says then, before turning again and practically running out of the room, to some other place in the apartment.

Frigga can't help but laugh to herself over her son's enthusiasm.

Norns, she hasn't seen Loki so carefree and... openly happy in longer than she can recall.

He comes back less than a minute later, carrying something sleek and shining in his hands, running and jumping back up onto the bed with her and settling in close at her side.

"It's called a Stark Pad." He tells her excitedly. "And look, these mortals are very clever Mama. They've composed a limitless bank of information which they call the internet! Anything you wish to educate yourself on, anything you can imagine, you can research! Of course, there is much erroneous and even false information circulating. It seems one mustn't need be a scholar to write text on any given subject, and for all their advancement, the mortals remain woefully ignorant on many things. Still, the ease of use and abundance of writing is immensely useful!"

"I see." Frigga says, watching as her son demonstrates this... internet, for her, the face of the contraption lighting up, showing images and color and text, Loki navigating through it easily and efficiently. It seems rather a simple concept, and Frigga is able to follow easily enough what her boy is doing.

"The mortals have an abundance of great bards as well, I'm discovering!" Loki goes on, lost in his reverie. "Oh, they have so many wonderful story tellers Mama. And I've already accustomed myself to several of their tongues in order that I might read their works."

"Have you now?" Frigga smiles, hardly surprised. Loki had always had a great facility for languages, she remembers, having become fluent in the tongues of many realms and their various regions while he'd still been a very young child. He knew, she had at one time estimated, very near one hundred different languages. "What tongues have you learned?"

"Well..." Loki starts, seeming to think a moment. "English, since that is the tongue used by my..." he hesitates a moment. "by my friends here. And then I've also learned French, Russian and..." he thinks for a moment. "Presently I am learning Italian."

Frigga cannot help but feel a swell of pride in her heart at her son, and she reaches out, slipping her arm round his thin shoulders and tugging him against her side.

"Oh, my bright boy." She says. "How wonderful you are!"

Loki giggles brightly as she presses a kiss against his cheek, tickling him lightly.

He pushes against her shoulder, turning his face away.

"I'm not." He says bashfully, shy.

"Oh, yes you are, child." Frigga insists, sticking her fingers underneath his arms and tickling him more aggressively still.

Loki erupts into laughter, thrashing wildly in an attempt to get away, but Frigga follows him every which way he turns, not allowing him escape.

"N-no! Ss-stop! Stop!" Loki cries breathlessly between his helpless laughter, and Frigga laughs with him, unable to help herself.

She continues to tickle him mercilessly until he's practically gasping for breath, and finally she relents, pulling her hands away, thick tears washing down her son's pale cheeks, his laughter slowly tapering off.

She supports herself on her elbow lying beside him, reaching out with her other hand and brushing his dark hair back from his forehead, just watching him a long moment.

It takes several, long seconds for him to calm completely, but when he does, he falls silent, his face slackening into an expression all too familiar to her, a look which had always been too old, too knowing on a child as young as he, too sober and sad.

"Mama?" He asks at last, his voice a whisper.

"Hmm?" She replies softly.

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything, and Frigga watches his face carefully, seeing how his gaze is fixed down, away from her.

"Loki, what is it?" She asks, worry churning inside her.

He breathes out harshly then, and she sees his eyes fill abruptly with tears.

"I don't wish to be bad." He finally says, his voice wavering and weak.

Frigga feels her heart crash to the pit of her stomach, his throat constricting.

"I... I wish to be good. I wish to be like... like Father, and Thor, and... and you." Loki goes on, tears slipping free down his face. "I don't want to be bad."

He says it desperately, like he's asking permission, begging her to let him be good, to help him, and it's all Frigga can do to keep her own tears back, needing to swallow several times, thickly, before she can speak.

"Oh Loki..." she at last forces herself. "you are good, my sweet boy."

"But the things I did..." he chokes, turning his face down towards the mattress, burying it against the surface, like he's ashamed. "I'm evil..."

"No." Frigga says, horrified as she pushes herself up. "Loki, that is not true. Darling, look at me."

But he won't, and she watches heartbroken as he keeps his face pressed against the bedding, his thin body beginning to tremble as he sobs silently, plainly distraught.

She reaches down, slipping her hands underneath him and lifting him up herself, pulling him against her as she hugs him fiercely.

He clings back to her, his hands burying in the material of her dress, his wet face pressing against her shoulder as he cries in earnest.

"Oh, my love," Frigga tries desperately to sooth him. "in so many ways you've always been the best of us. If only I could make you understand that."

"But the th-things I've... I've done..." Loki sobs brokenly.

Frigga cups the back of her son's head in her palm, pressing a kiss to his temple and rocking him gently.

"Loki, listen to me." She says quietly. "Listen well. You are so brilliant, and you think that brilliance serves you well to know enough of everything, but it doesn't. Perceptive as you have always been of others, to yourself you have always been blind. You miss the purity in your own heart, my child. You have in you such an immense capacity for good."

Loki says nothing to that, a violent shudder working through his frame as he clings to her more tightly.

Frigga squeezes him back.

"Loki, do you trust me?" She asks, dropping her chin to the crown of his head.

A long moment passes before, weakly, he nods against her.

"Then trust me when I tell you that, whatever you think it is you did, whatever you are now thinking of yourself, it isn't near so simple, so clear, as you believe. Trust me when I tell you that, when you grow to be a man, like your father, there is never anything you do without a purpose, without good cause and reason, and that what your friend Steve has told you of what happened, is not the whole of the story, is not so simple as wrong and right."

Again, he says nothing, still holding to her desperately, his weak sobs growing weaker still, until he is only crying silently, shaking in her arms, and Frigga can do naught but hold him now, be here for him, and pray to the Norns that he hears her. That he listens.

She has to make it right for her youngest son, she thinks. Somehow. She has to make it right.


End file.
